


Project-Solstice: The Stupendous Spider-Friends

by BeauJakson



Series: Project Solstice [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, Gen, Origin Story, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 111,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9433913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeauJakson/pseuds/BeauJakson
Summary: "My name is Peter Parker, and I have a secret.I know, what kind of earth-shattering, monumentally life-altering secret could a high-school freshman possibly have? What sort of ancient primordial knowledge could be stewing around in that hormone-addled brain of his that no one else on this Earth knows, that could alter the course of history as mankind knows it?I am in love with my best friend."Peter Parker's got a lot going on in his life. His first day of high school starts today, he's battling budding feelings for his best friend Gwen Stacy, and now he has to try to navigate young adulthood with what's left of his sanity intact.Little does he know, his life's about to get more complicated than he could ever imagine....





	1. Chapter 1

My name is Peter Parker, and I have a secret.

I know, what kind of earth-shattering, monumentally life-altering secret could a high-school freshman possibly have? What sort of ancient primordial knowledge could be stewing around in that hormone-addled brain of his that no one else on this Earth knows, that could alter the course of history as mankind knows it?

I am in love with my best friend.

Well, it’s a big deal to _me_.

Anyway, she’s literally the girl next door, and we met one day when I was scribbling on my aunt and uncle’s driveway with sidewalk chalk (because I was seven, and that’s just what seven-year-olds do) and she actually came over to critique the cat I drew.

To critique it.

A seven-year-old.

Maybe I _wanted_ my cat to have one eye bigger than the other, Gwendolyne Stacy. Did you think about that?

After as deep a discussion about art as two seven-year-olds could have (good sidewalk locations, the best way to draw a half-decent circle, how much RoseArt crayons suck), we eventually decided to collaborate on a project, a chalk mural of sorts spanning the sidewalk between our houses. It was during this time that I learned Gwen Stacy’s name, that her mother was dead and her father was “a real important police man”, and that she had just moved in next door and was looking for a friend.

Then she asked me that fateful question.

“Do you wanna be best friends?”

Lots of frantic nodding and wordless spluttering later, I, Peter Parker, self-professed dork and haver of no friends, walked home that day with my head held high. I had just made friends with the most beautiful girl in Queens, in all of New York City, maybe even the world.

And that’s where my story begins. The girl.

It’s always about a girl, isn’t it?

So, back to today, my huge secret. Today’s officially the first day of high-school, and that means a lot of older guys that have gotten through the worst half of puberty and emerged “young men” that will no doubt soon realize that Gwen Stacy has blossomed into just a truly adorable girl. She’s not the drop-dead-gorgeous model type, often termed “hot”, but she has a classic sort of beauty.

When I told her this the other day, she just called me a “lame hipster poet” and threw a French fry at me.

I guess I won’t be showing her my poetry journals.

Just kidding; I don’t have poetry journals.

So _don’t check_.

I’m getting sidetracked. Gwen Stacy and I are on the school bus together because we don’t have a fancy private chauffeur like Harry Osborn. Gwen once asked why he couldn’t give us a ride, too, but Harry said they would have to drive _past_ the school just to pick us up, and that would involve waking up a half hour earlier, which is just not happening.

Frankly, I understand completely.

And I get to spend time alone with Gwen, which is always fantastic. It has nothing to do with the fact that she’s not always fully awake in the mornings and sometimes falls asleep on my shoulder.

Nothing at all.

The bus hits a small bump, and my happy little moment ends as she bounces just enough that her eyes flutter open, blinking and realizing that she’s (once again) dozed off against me.

“Oh! Sorry, Pete, I just…couldn’t sleep last night,” she says through a yawn, sitting up and stretching as well as the cramped school bus seats will allow. She tucks a lock of golden blonde hair behind an ear, smiling sweetly at me. “Seriously, I was awake until like two o’clock going over the list, making sure I had _everything_.”

I nod, fixing my glasses up my nose. “I had the whole ‘What if I forgot something?’ episode, but Aunt May never misses something on the shopping list,” I say. “Even if she does just get the boring plain notebooks and folders.”

“What, you wanted a folder with a sick-ass Chinese dragon on it?” Gwen asks amusedly, and I scoff.

“Uh, yeah, duh.”

God, her giggle is just the most adorable sound ever. She sits back in her seat, and I try not to make it too obvious that I can’t stop looking at her laugh. Harry keeps telling me to just ask her out already, but after watching his disastrous attempt at the same thing just last year (and the awkward weeks that followed), I’m pretty inclined to leave things as they are. I don’t wanna ruin any friendships by reading signals wrong.

And I’m _bad_ at reading signals.

But playing it safe _also_ means that she could very easily end up with some guy and spend a lot less time with me, and I’m selfish and don’t want that to happen. Plus I really just love her her, and I’ve been told she likes me that way more than a few times, so she might actually say yes, and thinking about _that_ fills me with this weird sort of dread and a leaping sensation in my stomach similar to the first time I rode a rollercoaster at Coney Island.

Yeah. First day of high-school, and I’m already an emotional mess.

Soon enough, the bus pulls to a stop, and Gwen and I wait for the rush of students to pass so we’re not just standing in front of our seats like a couple of idiots. I lead the way out (Gwen loves the window seat), and Gwen sticks close behind. Is she just as nervous as I am about this? Probably not. Knowing her, she’s picking up on how terrified I am of this whole new social situation and is sticking close out of solidarity.

Gwen’s pretty awesome.

Midtown High is rather like any public school in New York, old but well-kept and currently teeming with students milling around in the cool morning air while enjoying the last gasps of freedom before ducking into the shadowed halls to…learn things. Frankly, I’m looking forward to actually getting to work, nerding it up in the Chemistry lab, starting that Biology course I signed up for as soon as I heard about it, maybe getting on the school newspaper and finally putting my penchant for photography to good use beyond a neglected Tumblr page.

Speaking of which…. I pull my aging film camera out of my backpack. Harry’s been telling me to go digital, but a nice digital camera is expensive these days, and there’s something satisfying about the heavy click of an old-school shutter.

Yes, I’m a shameless hipster and deserve nothing but scorn.

I take aim, framing the school against the sunrise currently hidden behind some billowing clouds. It’s a nice shot, definitely….

_Snap!_

“Perfect,” I say, tucking the camera carefully back in my bag.

“Peter Parker, ace photographer,” Gwen says, smirking as she bumps her shoulder against mine. “C’mon, Harry just texted me that he’s here.”

My own phone buzzes in my pocket, no doubt carrying a similar text, and I drag it out.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[yo, I’m here at the dropoff area]_

“So, I just read the word ‘drop-off’,” I say, “and now I wanna watch – “

“Finding Nemo, right?” Gwen giggles. “’The drop-off, they’re taking them to the drop-off!?’”

“’Why don’t they just fry ‘em up now, and serve ‘em with chips!?’” I add, and Gwen snickers.

“We’re so watching that when I come over to your place tonight,” she says.

“Deal,” I nod.

We reach the area where students are dropped off by parents (or in Harry’s case, highly paid chauffeurs) and see Harry heading our way with a grin. Harry Osborn is the quintessential rebellious rich boy. His father is the founder and CEO of the family business, Oscorp Industries, and as such, Harry Osborn has never had a difficult day in his life and likely never will. Thankfully, though, he’s managed to stay rather grounded, preferring the simpler pleasures in life like spending time at the skate park or recording Let’s Plays for our YouTube Channel.

Hey, we have like fifty subscribers.

“Ugh, I’m so fucking tired,” he says, yawning as he stops in front of us. As usual, Harry looks like he stepped off the cover of a young adult romance novel. His hair is perfectly messed, his clothes just the right combination of skater casual with expensive brand names. He has a skateboard perched at his side, and I grimace, remembering my one foray into the world of skateboarding.

I still have a scar on my ankle.

“Good morning to you, too, Harry,” Gwen says, eyeing the skateboard with confusion. “Planning to skate to classes?”

“Nah, Flash Thompson hit me up on Facebook last night asking if he could try out my board,” Harry shrugs. “Figured, why not? Jock cred, and maybe he’ll like it.”

“You humanitarian,” Gwen says with a wry smile, and Harry just shrugs again.

“I’m just looking to make it through high-school with as little drama as possible.”

“Right, a building packed with teens age fourteen to eighteen,” I say with a wry smile, pushing my glasses up my nose again. “No drama at all.”

 

The opening assembly is pretty much just like every other school assembly ever. Principal Davis is either deluded enough to think that a group of sleepy high-schoolers will hang onto every word of his welcoming speech or too jaded by the American education system to care. Judging by his enthusiasm, I’m guessing the former. I manage to stay awake, actually interested in hearing how to sign up for at least one extracurricular, the school newspaper.

Gwen falls asleep _again_ , dozing away on my shoulder once more, and of course, Harry snaps a picture on his phone.

“That’s getting Snapchatted,” he says with a pearly-white grin that gleams in the darkness. Does he bleach his teeth? “Oh, and I think Twitter, too. Hashtag ‘first day of school’, hashtag ‘young love’, what do you think?”

“I think it’s weird that you once asked her out and now you ship us so hardcore,” I say.

“I don’t like to live in the past,” Harry says with a smirk. “Besides, we’re in high-school. Plenty of gold-diggers looking for a rich punk to latch onto.”

“Your self-esteem is admirable,” I deadpan, glancing back up front for a moment, but the aging Phys Ed instructor is now going on about the merits of joining the football team. Like I’d ever be caught dead on a football field.

Actually, dead is the most likely outcome of such a scenario.

“Parker!” a voice hisses to my left, and I look over to see Flash Thompson giving me a grin, gesturing at Gwen resting away on my shoulder. “Nice!” he mouths, and all I can do is give a little sheepish smile in return. It’s all the wrong impression, but why correct him now? Especially when such an action might rudely awaken Gwen, who is snoring ever so softly into my neck, hot breath sending shivers down my spine –

“Nm?” Gwen mutters into my shoulder, nuzzling into it. “Pete? Oh, sorry,” she whispers, sitting up and letting a dainty little yawn. “Wow, you’re just getting the full pillow treatment today, hm?”

“I don’t mind,” I’m quick to assure her, hating the way my voice cracks softly. Gwen just smiles at me.

“You wouldn’t, perv,” she chides me, and I feel my face heat up.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, relax, Pete,” Gwen says, giving me an amused grin. “I think it’s cute you try not to wake me up. Very courteous.”

The assembly dismisses, and it’s off to classes. For the morning, most everything is just the standard curriculum, which means teachers passing out syllabi and explaining classroom rules, the usual. Harry, Gwen, and I share a lot of classes, mostly by virtue of the fact that Gwen and I chose more advanced courses, and Norman Osborn has high ambitions for his son and made him do the same.

Harry’s more than a little concerned about the workload.

“Peter Parker, will you be my study buddy this year?” he asks me as we make our way to lunch after listening to the Introductory Biology teacher outline a course that sounded more appropriate to freshman year of college.

“Only if you never use that term again,” I agree, prompting Gwen to giggle softly.

“We’ll _both_ help you out, Harry,” she says. “For real, you’re smart enough for this stuff, you just need to learn to apply yourself.”

“Now you sound like my dad,” Harry grumbles. “Always talking about how ‘Osborns must always strive to be the best’ or some shit. It’s heartwarming or something, I guess, but it gets old.”

“I think he’s a great father,” I say. “He just believes in you, is all.”

“You would,” Harry says with a smirk. “I think we might have been switched at birth or something. He’s always saying I should try to be more like you.”

“A scrawny nerd with social anxiety issues and Coke-bottle glasses?” I say. “Yeah, I’m a real role-model.”

Harry chuckles while Gwen just rolls her eyes as she always does when I rag on myself like that. We step into the cafeteria, which is a writhing sea of students awash in the din of hundreds of mingling conversations. My stomach gives a growl at the smell of food, unused to days without a constant stream of snacks handcrafted with loving care by Aunt May.

Seriously, that woman must make cookies for the sheer enjoyment of it.

We collect our lunches and find seats at the end of a table occupied on the other end by a circle of cheerleaders or something. Harry immediately digs into his ala carte pizza with gusto. Today’s menu lunch is grilled cheese, which the Midtown High cafeteria workers seem unable to butcher, though the bread is a bit rubbery.

Peter Parker, master food critic.

Gwen, picking at her Caesar salad, observes the cafeteria as she takes a bite.

“Well, we survived half a day,” she says with a wan smile.

“It’s not so bad,” I say, shrugging.

That’s my first mistake, I suppose.

As we’re munching quietly, a group of the stereotypical high-school jocks strolls up. Two of them are even wearing letterman jackets, despite the warm weather. The lead goon, who looks to be in his junior year, peers down first at me, then Harry, then Gwen, his scowl widening to a leer as his eyes rest on her.

“This is our spot,” he says. “Clear out. She can stay.” He smirks at Gwen, who gives him the most sarcastic little smirk right back before standing.

“Let’s just go, c’mon,” she says. “There are plenty of other places to sit.”

“Oh, man, I bet this guy feels so fucking alpha right now,” Harry says, shaking his head as the gathers his tray up. “You’re the man, you know that? Proud of yourself?”

Suddenly, my tray is not in my hands anymore, clattering to the floor with a half-eaten grilled cheese and some tater tots. I look up and see the jock smirking at me before looking at Harry.

“Now I am,” he says. “Fuck out of here smartass, I’m gonna have me eye on you.”

“You – “

“Leave it,” I say, snagging Harry by the arm and dragging him away, quelling my own frustration with the desire to _not_ see my best friend get his ass kicked on the first day of school. Harry reluctantly follows me, Gwen on my other side.

“Should we tell a teacher or something?” she asks, glancing at me. I just shrug.

“Wouldn’t do any good, I think,” I say, finding another seat, this one in a little corner near the windows. At the other end of the table, a familiar face greets me, Flash Thompson waving from amidst a circle of his basketball friends. Now that he’s out of the dim lighting of the auditorium, I can see that he’s chopped his blond hair short and has it gelled into a perfect jock coif.

“What’s up, Parker?” he calls. “Osborn, we still doing skateboard lessons after school?”

“Yeah, let’s meet up out front by the sign,” Harry says before turning back to me, sliding his remaining slice of pizza toward me wordlessly.

“You don’t have to – “

“Eat it,” he says. “Bro-brains over there wouldn’t have knocked your tray down if I hadn’t said anything.”

I reluctantly start in on the pizza as Gwen dumps some tots on the plate as well, sighing.

“Seriously, I can’t believe he did that,” she says, glaring back in the direction of the jocks. The leader-type spots this and waves, and Gwen immediately looks away. “Jeez, it’s like an eighties movie.”

“Bullying…bullying never changes,” I say in my best Ron Perlman impersonation. Harry smirks before nudging me.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he says. “Tomorrow, after school, my place, right? We’re starting our Fallout 4 series.”

“Hell yeah,” I agree, turning to Gwen, who wears an amused smile as she watches us. “Gwen, you in? Special guest star?”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says with mock reluctance. “Just don’t get mad if I get bored. You two are the gamer nerds.”

“Hey, we’re not the ones who’ve sunk like two years into Animal Crossing New Leaf,” I counter, and Gwen just sticks her tongue out.

“Don’t hate on Awesomeville,” she says. “Resident happiness is at ninety-eight percent, _and_ I finally got Hippeaux to leave!”

“Oh, you did?” I ask. Gwen had been griping about one villager in particular that she just didn’t like, and once or twice, when I peeked at her screen, I actually saw her chasing around a hippo and hitting it with a butterfly net.

And now I’m imagining Gwen Stacey on safari, actually chasing a hippo with a butterfly net.

This has to happen someday.

The bell rings to signal lunch is over, and we turn in our trays. I have Journalism I after lunch, while Harry is off to Phys. Ed, and Gwen will be heading to Music Theory. Flying solo, I make my way into the sea of students, feeling myself hunch in, closing off the outside world as I generally prefer to do when away from Harry or Gwen. The world generally doesn’t acknowledge me, and I find that if I try to get it to do so, it just leads to situations like in the cafeteria. I briefly consider popping in my earbuds, but that’s just asking for a teacher to enforce the “No MP3 players” rule on me.

I step into the Journalism classroom, where a thirty-something man with close-cropped hair, thick-framed glasses, and a stubbly beard is leaning against his desk, watching the class enter.

“Please find a seat, I’m going to pass around a chart, just write your name down where you’re sitting.”

Well, at least he seems like a fairly laid-back teacher. Making my way to an empty table in the back, I plop down and lean back, staring out the window. The sky is clouding over, and it looks like it could rain. Hopefully Harry and Flash’s bro-time skateboard lesson doesn’t get rained out.

My attention is drawn away from the window by a wave of slightly perfumed air as someone sits next to me, and I turn to see a ginger-haired girl removing a newsboy cap and tossing it on the table. She turns to me with a bright smile.

“Hi!” she says rather enthusiastically. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Um…yeah—I mean, no, go ahead,” I say, shrugging. She’s pretty. She’s on the scrawny side like me, and taller than Gwen by a good two or three inches. Recent growth spurt? She’s wearing a sundress with a t-shirt and cardigan, apparently subscribing to the “never enough layers” school of fashion that Gwen loved to hate.

“I’m Jessica,” she says. She has an easy smile, and apparently a habit of twirling her hair, which she does spiritedly as she speaks. “You’re…Peter? I think we had a class together last year.”

“Oh!” I say, suddenly remembering her. “Yeah, okay. We were in Mrs. Bennington’s class together.”

“Yep,” she says, looking pleased that I remember. “I was the one whose clay vase blew up in the kiln because I thought it would look cool with bubbles.”

“Oh my God, I remember that,” I say, chuckling. “She was so pissed, but she never really told you that would happen, so she couldn’t punish you. She kept finding shrapnel in the kiln for weeks.”

Jessica giggles, nodding and looking smugly satisfied with herself. “That’s me,” she says. “No, I just remember you because you have that YouTube channel. With the let’s plays.”

My eyes must shoot as wide as it feels like they are, because she laughs again. I didn’t know we had any local fans.

“Um…yeah, we have a little channel,” I say.

“Hey, fifty subscribers isn’t bad for a couple dorks from Queens,” she says, but the way she says “dorks” doesn’t sound condescending at all. Or maybe just a little, in that playfully teasing way girls sometimes spoke to me that was just confusing more often than not.

“How did you even find us in the sea of YouTube?” I ask.

“You did a let’s play of like my favorite game ever, Five Nights at Freddy’s,” she says. “I’m too chickenshit to play it myself because I hate jumpscares, but I love the story. I like the way you actually followed it and pieced it together.”

I nod, shrugging. “I like a game with a good storyline,” I say. “And like…that guy knows how to tell a really spooky story.”

“With way too many jumpscares thrown in,” Jessica says with a wry smile.

I chuckle, mostly because I remember the two of us reacting with absolute terror to the game’s many jumpscares…at first. “Well, it’s just a pattern you have to nail down.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are smart enough to figure out the pattern two minutes into each night,” she says.

I’m about to respond when the bell rings again, and the teacher steps to the front of the room to begin the class. As he passes out the syllabus, I find myself actually looking forward to this class. Journalism has always been something of a fascination of mine, going hand-in-hand with photography, and the teacher, Mr. Kepler, apparently spent several years working at the Daily Bugle before moving on to teaching.

And there’s a cute redheaded girl that keeps smiling at me every time I look in her direction.

Mr. Kepler passes out a small quiz (“Just to give you guys an idea of what we’ll be working on in this class.”) for each table to work on as partners, and Jessica scoots her seat closer to mine, bringing that perfumed scent nearer. She leans on her elbow and studies the quiz.

“So, any inside scoop on what game you two are playing next?” Jessica asks as I read the question.

  1. _The concept of “community journalism” was first advocated by which 1920s philosopher?_



 

How was anyone supposed to – ?

“John Dewey,” Jessica says, poking at the question before looking up at me. “Did you hear me?”

“Um….” she smells really nice. I may be socially awkward, but I know not to actually _say_ that, however, so I just glance over at her. “Um…we’re probably gonna do a series on Fallout 4.”

She writes down her answer and hums. “I never really got into that game, but I’ll definitely watch.”

“I’ll have to tell Harry and Gwen we have a fan here at school,” I say.

“Yeah!” she says, smiling brightly. “I found you guys over the summer, and I was like, ‘Hey, I know him!’. I was too shy to comment, though.”

“You should have,” I say with a smirk. “Pretty sure some of our videos still have zero comments.”

“Aw,” she says, giggling a bit. “Maybe I’ll binge-watch you this weekend and comment on every single one.”

“Mister…Parker and Miss Cambell,” Mr. Kepler says, walking up to our table. “I’m glad to see my students getting along so well, but let’s focus on our work as well, hm?”

“Sorry, Mr. Kepler,” Jessica says sheepishly.

“Sorry, sir,” I mutter. The teacher glances down at our paper, tapping the question we actually answered.

“Good job, though, I think you’re the first ones to actually get that right.” With that, he walked off, leaving me looking at Jessica in amazement.

“I may or may not spend my nights trolling through Wikipedia articles about…literally everything,” she says with a little shrug and a smile, looking to the second question.

Yeah, I’m gonna like this class.

 

“So, where you going next?” Jessica asks as we leave the classroom forty minutes later (we were the only partnership to get more than one question right, yay us). She checks her schedule, hitching her messenger bag up her shoulder.

“Oh, um…Life Skills,” I say.

“Hey, me, too!” she says, sounding extremely happy about such a coincidence.

“Cool,” I say, smiling. “I have no actual life skills, so maybe you can help me get a head start?”

She snorts at that. “Please, I can burn cereal. Last time I tried to do my own laundry, my favorite white blouse ended up tie-dyed.”

“Well, good, I won’t feel so bad, then,” I say, and she sticks her tongue out.

“Yeah, until I become a domestic goddess, and you’re left in the dust that you have no idea how to clean up,” she says.

This girl is pretty amazing.

“Touché,” I say, conceding defeat. “You should join the debate team.”

“Nah, they’re too pretentious,” she says. “If I do any afterschool stuff, I wanna be on the volleyball team.”

“I might see if the school newspaper is looking for a photographer,” I say, shrugging.

“Oh, are you into photography?” Jessica asks.

“Yeah, kinda,” I say, shrugging. “I dabble.”

“No way, that’s awesome,” she says as we walk into the classroom. “You should like put together a portfolio and show me sometime.”

“Oh,” I say. “Um, sure, if you want.”

We find seat at a table, and from the looks of things, each table is meant to hold four students. Jessica ducks down to unzip her backpack, and the collar of her shirt hangs down enough that for two glorious seconds I have a lovely view of the valley, but Aunt May didn’t raise a pervert, so I snap my eyes away and studiously look at my own notebook, doodling in the margins of my Journalism notes.

“Saw you peeking,” Jessica says as she sits back in her seat, and I look sharply up at her, feeling my face heating up with a blush.

“Um…two seconds, promise,” I babble. “Not even two, more like – “

“Relax, Parker,” she says, and I decide I really like the way she says my last name. “I saw you look away, too. A true gentleman.”

I’m about to say something when a voice booms through the classroom, causing the few students that made it early to jump in their seats.

“Parker!”

My head jerks over to see a familiar tall, lean boy with a polo shirt that might be just a bit too tight and slim-fitting jeans. Flash Thompson is taking Life Skills, too, it seems. Trailing behind him is a girl with long, straight blonde hair, a denim skirt and a boys’ basketball jersey that is obviously Flash’s pulled over a t-shirt.

“What’s up, holy shit,” he says, making his way over with his girlfriend in tow. I think her name is Elizabeth, but she goes by Liz. Flash topples into the chair next to me, patting the one next to him. “Right here, Lizzy.”

“Hi, Peter,” Liz says with a little smile. Flash’s girlfriend has never been one for deep conversations or anything, but she’s always been nice, and it’s obvious she means well.

“Jessicaaaaa,” Flash says, recognizing the redhead and drawing out the last syllable of her name in a suave voice.

“Flashuuuuuh,” Jessica says right back, smirking.

“How’s the brother?” Flash asks, slouching in his seat.

“Small and annoying, as usual,” Jessica says with a roll of her eyes. She looks over at me, smiling. “We’re neighbors,” she explains. “Flash lives down the street, and he’s the big brother little Phil has always wanted.”

“How touching,” I say.

“I know, right?” Jessica quips, looking over as the teacher walks in. She’s a portly woman with a curly mop of red hair and a warm smile that she beams out at us as she introduces herself as Ms. Dandy, tells us she’s heard every “Dandy” pun in the book and a few very creative ones her own students made up. Soon, we’re all given the ponderous task of hand-sewing two pieces of cloth together.

It takes me five minutes just to thread the needle, and another two to get a knot tied in the end of the thread. My only consolation is that Jessica takes just as long. Liz doesn’t seem to realize that the end of the thread needs to be knotted so it doesn’t pull right through the fabric and makes four passes before she realizes her mistake.

Flash is the first one done.

“How – “

“Nana Thompson taught me how to sew when I was ten,” he says proudly, folding his arms.

“Maybe _he’s_ supposed to be the domestic goddess,” Jessica mutters, and I bust out laughing, not even mad when I drop my needle and have to start over again.

 

Phys. Ed. is the last class of the day, and joy of joys, Gwen’s in the female class, so I get to show off my gasping, heaving attempts at any form of physical exertion to the love of my life.

Oh yeah, it’s a good year for Peter Parker.

At least I have emotional support.

“C’mon, Pete, you can do ten measly pushups!” Flash says, his face inches from mine, his fist on the floor under my chest to mark how low I should be going. To my surprise, I manage to lower myself to brush against his thumb before rising back up. “There ya go! That’s five, gimme five more, Marine!”

I’d love to point out that this isn’t the Marines, but I literally cannot spare a single breath. My arms are on fire, and I think it’s spreading to my shoulders.

“Six!”

Really, the lowering part should be easy, but it’s a fight to make sure I don’t just flop to the floor, which gravity and my generally frail physique are making a very real possibility.

“Seven!”

Three more. Three more and I prove I’m only _slightly_ out of shape instead of _embarrassingly_ so.

“Eight! C’mon, Pete, you got this!”

No. No, I definitely don’t. My arms give out, and I flump onto Flash’s hand, feeling like I could throw up. I roll onto my back, arms limp at my sides. Flash sighs but grips my shoulder, giving it a little shake.

“Eh, it’s day one,” he says. “You did alright.”

He may be a jock and a bit of a “dude-bro” sometimes, but Flash is pretty alright.

“Marine?” I ask him, and he smirks.

“Dad was in the corps,” he says. “He’s a cop now, but he told me you never lose the attitude.”

“Cool,” is all I say, simply because it’s all I _can_. I hear hurried footsteps nearby, and an angel floats down from on high, descending into my field of vision with something between a smirk and a smile.

Only Gwen Stacy can mix a mocking smirk and a genuine smile so perfectly.

“How many?” she asks, sounding prepared for the worst.

“Eight,” I say, actually rather proud. Gwen giggles, patting me on the chest.

“Good job,” she says. “Shoot for double digits next time, hm?”

“Baby steps,” I tell her, and she just rolls her eyes, standing and hurrying back over to rejoin her group. Flash watches her go, grinning down at me.

“Parker, you fox,” he says. “When did you two start going out?”

I blink up at him. “Huh? We’re not.”

Flash snorts. “Well, you better ask her soon, bro,” he says. “She’s into you, I can tell.”

“She’s just being nice,” I insist. There’s no way Gwen Stacy is into _me_. There’s a better chance of Harry joining the X-Men than that. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

“Which is why you guys are totally perfect for each other,” Flash insists, dragging me to a sitting position because my arms feel like noodles and simply can’t lift me. “You should at least just ask her out on a date or something. Go get coffee. See a movie.”

I sigh, glancing over at Gwen, who is powering through some pushups of her own, watched by some girl with dark red hair and a _very_ tight-fitting set of gym clothes. I can’t make out the words, but she seems to be doing just what Flash was, egging Gwen on through her exercise.

She’s getting much better results, though.

“Maybe I’ll ask her,” I say noncommittally, which Flash seems to buy.

But in what universe would Gwen Stacy fall in love with Peter Parker?

 

Gwen has volleyball tryouts after school, and Harry has a skate-date with Flash, so I find myself wandering in the direction of the school newspaper offices on my own.

Well, not entirely.

“Pete!”

Jessica Cambell is hurrying after me, smiling as she catches up.

“Jess,” I say, giving her a small wave. “Weren’t you gonna join the volleyball team?”

“I thought the school newspaper sounded more fun,” she says, shrugging. “Besides, I don’t have the coordination for volleyball. Might do the swim team instead.”

“Oh,” I noise. “Well, it’s a heated pool, so that’s a plus.”

“Yep!” Jessica said, trotting along with me as we make our way for the southern hallway, where the afterschool clubs typically gather. “And I can do like a sports column or something, get the inside scoop on the swim team, I guess.”

“I bet there are plenty scandals to uncover in the world of high-school sports,” I say flatly, and she bumps me with her shoulder.

“You’d be surprised,” she says. We reach the old clubroom that has been appropriated as the school newspaper, and I courteously get the door.

“Well, thank you,” Jessica says, stepping in, and I follow.

As the door clicks shut, we take in the sight of the epicenter of what passes for journalism in a public high-school. Two huge tables take up the middle of the room, currently covered in pictures, printouts of articles, three laptops, two tablets, and at least four different kinds of scissors. In the corner, hunched behind a desk, sits a tall, lanky upperclassman, probably a junior or senior. His glasses shine with the light of the computer screen. Briefly, I wonder if my glasses ever do that, or is that something you have to learn to do?

Sidetracked.

The upperclassman looks up when he hears the door open, nodding. “Oh, hey. What’s up? Looking to join the paper? Or here with a story?”

“Looking to join,” Jessica and I say at the same time, and we share a small smirk.

“Cool,” the older kid says, chuckling at our little moment. “I’m Liam. I’m the editor-in-chief, so I guess that makes me in charge around here. What are you guys looking to do for the paper? Like, layout, proofreading, certain column?”

“I could do a sports column, if that’s cool,” Jessica says. “Or, like…just current events, I guess. I’m new to the journalism world.”

“We always need more field reporters,” Liam says. “Just keep any eye out for a good story. Sports can be a good fallback, if you’re gonna be on a team.”

“Swim team,” she says in a singsong voice, and Liam just snickers, turning to me.

“What about you? Proofreader?”

“Well…” truth be told, I _am_ something of a grammar nut. “I could do that, but I was hoping to be a photographer.”

Liam hums thoughtfully. “Well, we did just have a photographer leave last year, so…sure, bring in some pics and we’ll see what you’ve got. We usually try to have everyone here Tuesdays and Thursdays, but there’s always a few people here every afternoon working on something. We’re overseen by Mr. Kepler, and he stops in every Friday to check up on us. Stop in tomorrow, and we’ll have a proper orientation for all the new folks. Welcome to the Midtown Express.”

“Awesome,” Jessica says, smiling over at me. “Um…what now?”

“Well, we’re planning on doing a Back to School spread, so pictures of students doing…student things would be helpful. Freshman getting used to things, students interacting, having fun. If you have a Study Hall at all during the day, we can see about getting you a press pass to spend it taking pictures of classes in progress, whatever.”

“I have a Study Hall during third period,” I say.

“Perfect,” Liam says, leaning against the large desk. “I assume you have your own camera?”

I gesture at my backpack. “Yeah.”

“Great,” he says. “There’s a small stipend we get from the school for film, but don’t go eating through it, especially since everything’s pretty much digital these days. We have a photo printer, but it’s for newspaper use only. If you _do_ still use film, you can ask to use Mrs. Hastings’s darkroom or just go to like Circle Q and get it done there.”

“Got it,” I say, nodding. It sounds like this could be fun. I glance over and catch Jessica smiling at me, and she just sticks her tongue out, looking back to Liam.

“So, if that’s everything, I’m proofreading an exclusive interview with the Human Torch,” he said. “One of our guys actually met him over summer break and managed to get a few questions in.”

With one last farewell, we leave him to his work, Jessica holding the door for me on the way out.

“Haha, now we’re even,” she sings, and I roll my eyes as I walk by her. She catches up as we walk, humming thoughtfully. “That’s cool that that kid met the Human Torch.”

“My aunt and uncle were watching the news story about them getting a pardon from the government after the Mole Man thing,” I say.

“I mean, it was stupid of them to go taking off into space, but I guess it worked out,” Jessica says. “No ‘Terrific Trio’, no defense against the Mole Man. The X-Men sure weren’t about to help, and I don’t think the Hulk was a thing yet, if he’d even like wanna help.”

“You know a lot about superheroes,” I observe, and Jessica smiles.

“Well, okay, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda have a thing for the Invisible Boy,” she says meekly. “I mean…he’s not that much older than us, and he’s a freaking world-famous superhero!”

I smirk. “Hey, you think I don’t have a giant crush on Miss Fantastic?”

“And did you see _People_ magazine called the Human Torch – “

“Hottest Man Alive, I saw that,” I say in a deadpan voice. “Uncle Ben loved that one.”

“Yeah, you mentioned in  your videos, that you live with your aunt and uncle?” Jessica asks as we make our way out the front doors. It’s chilly, and there’s a fairly gusty breeze blowing, but it hasn’t started raining yet. I can smell it in the air, though, as we head down the steps out front.

“Yeah, my parents died when I was three, so I’ve lived with them ever since,” I say, prompting a small gasp from her.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she says. I shrug, shaking my head.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I mean…I barely remember them, and Aunt May and Uncle Ben are awesome.”

We’ve reached the front of the school, but Jessica isn’t going anywhere, watching the street for now.

“Waiting on a ride?” I ask, and she nods.

“Dad said he’d pick me up on the way home,” she replies, turning back to me. She reaches into her pocket and pulls her phone out, tapping the screen a few times before stuffing it into my hands. “Here, gimme your number.”

“Wah, okay,” I say, trying not to drop her phone, which looks like a rather nice one. Peering at the screen, I see the New Contact screen and obediently plug my number into the correct spot. I hand her phone back, and she smiles.

“Yay,” she smiles, tapping some more before pocketing it. “So…I’ll text you sometime? Unless that would be annoying?”

“No, not annoying at all,” I insist, shaking my head. She giggles a bit as a car pulls up, a small blond boy poking his head out the window and shouting at the top of his lungs.

“JESSICA, LET’S GO!”

“Oh my God, Phil, I am literally RIGHT HERE!” she shouts back, turning back to me. “See you tomorrow, Parker.”

With that, she hurries off and gets into the car, where I can just make out her father chiding them both for yelling like that. Chuckling, I wave and turn, checking my watch before realizing my bus is leaving right now.

Great. I hate running.

I’m catching my breath in my seat when my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see I already have a text.

**_From: Unknown Number_ **

_[Add me to your phone with the name Domestic Goddess! I WILL check tomorrow! ^.^]_

Maybe high-school won’t be _so_ bad.


	2. Chapter 2

_Bzzt-bzzt!_

_Bzzt-bzzt!_

_Bzzt-bzzt!_

Shut up, phone, you’re on silent for a reason.

_Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep!_

You, too, alarm clock!

“Peter, honey, time to get ready for school.”

“…Yes, Aunt May,” I mutter into my pillow.

One does not simply yell at May Parker.

I scrabble for my phone on my bedside table, tugging it toward me and noticing I have a few texts. Rolling out of bed, I stagger toward the bathroom, smelling Aunt May cooking breakfast downstairs while she apparently listens to some morning talk show. I hear the faint sounds of chatter and Gwen’s voice, I think. She must have stopped in for breakfast. She does that more often than not.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[good morning! (^.^)/]_

_[I watched your new episode last night and woke up Phil from laughing XD]_

**_From: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[hey, dork, I’m in your kitchen]_

Jeez, for someone who’s bad with girls, I sure get a lot of texts from girls.

I open up Spotify on my phone and stick it in the speaker/charging dock I keep on the bathroom counter, and as I brush my teeth, Fall Out Boy sings to me about Uma Thurman, which fades into Mumford and Sons playing…some song. I just started listening to them. As I’m soaking in the shower, the music skips as my text notification pings, but I just ignore it for the moment, singing quietly along to some more Fall Out Boy.

Hey, I love Irresistible. And it’s the one with Demi Lovato.

Stepping from the shower, I towel off and glance at myself in the mirror as I run my fingers through my hair to make some attempt to comb it. Uncle Ben says Dad was always pretty tall, but that apparently skipped me, or I’m still going through puberty, because I only hit one good growth spurt when I was twelve and kind of stopped there. I’ve at least grown out of what Aunt May called my “puppy fat”, but with no muscle to speak of and fairly pasty skin, I look like someone drew a stick figure on a chalkboard and decided the only personality it needed was vintage hipster glasses and messy hair.

I lost the analogy there.

The music cuts off as I grab my phone, checking it with one hand while skillfully (i/e: clumsily) stepping into my jeans with the other.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[yo, your birthday’s in a week, what do you want?]_

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[see you at school!]_

I send a text back to Jessica (who added me to Facebook immediately after texting me on the first day of school), telling her I can’t wait. As for Harry, I ponder his message as I fasten my jeans, pulling a shirt over my head and stepping out of the bathroom to head back to my room.

My fifteenth birthday is in a week (eight days, but who’s counting?), and Harry’s the kind of rich friend that will genuinely go out and buy whatever I say I want. This is a power that’s been tempting to abuse, but Uncle Ben always talks about responsibility and how it’s unfair to take advantage of a friend’s kindness.

Back in my room, I’m just about to head to my closet to maybe pick out a flannel when a voice behind me makes me jump and almost drop my phone.

“You have an awful singing voice.”

“Oh my God, Gwen, can you not just ninja into my room?” I say, turning around to see Gwen lounging on my bed, looking up at me with an impish smile.

“Well, you were giving such a lovely concert, I thought I should give you a brutally honest review,” she says. “Stick to photography.”

“Right,” I grumble, turning back to my closet and sifting through it for a bit before pulling out a red checkered flannel shirt. Pulling my arms through the sleeves, I turn to Gwen, who is watching me with a faintly amused smile. “You just gonna watch me get dressed?”

“Well, I’d rather watch you get _un_ dressed,” she says as I pull my sock drawer out, and I accidentally yank the drawer out way too hard, almost pulling it completely from the dresser. Gwen falls into a fit of giggles on my bed as I tug two socks out, throwing them at her before shutting the drawer. “Ew, boy socks!”

I turn and head for the bed, but she’s holding my socks now, giving me that same impish little smile, moving her hands behind her back. I smirk and advance on her. She shifts back toward the foot of my bed, which is up against a window and thus offers little in escape options.

“Nowhere to run, Stacy,” I say. “Your days of sock thievery have come to an end.”

“No, Parker, they’ve just begun!” she says, darting under my admittedly laborious lunge, but I spin and snag her around the waist. She lets a shrieking giggle as I lock my hands together, which only serves to hold her back as she drags me another foot before stumbling under my weight. We wind up in a pile on the floor, but again, Aunt May raised a gentleman, so I at least manage to control my fall so that I wind up on the floor and she lands on top of me.

“Fuck, that was…not a good idea,” I say, grunting a bit as I try to sit up, finding Gwen literally lying across my chest, shaking with giggles.

“God, do you remember when we’d play Forts?” she asks fondly. “You’d make your bed into this blanket fort, and I’d use your dresser, and we would just fucking charge each other trying to get into each other’s forts?”

“Yeah, and then you knocked over my dresser and had to get stitches in your forehead,” I say, busting out laughing at the memory. “I see fucking…little Gwen Stacy climbing on top of my dresser, ‘Queen of the castle!’ and wham-splat, on the floor.”

“You laugh now, but you were bawling at the time,” Gwen said, simply lying there across my chest, feet in the air in the archetypal “girl pose”. At least she’s supporting herself on her elbows so I can still breathe. “’Gwen, don’t die, you’re my best friend!’”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I’d rather keep you alive,” I say, reaching up to tickle at her side. She jerks away with a quiet laugh and reaches over to poke my nose.

“Ahem,” a clearing of the throat draws our attention, making us both jump, and we turn to see Uncle Ben standing in my doorway with a gigantic smile on his face, apparently off work from the factory today. Short and stocky, Uncle Ben looks almost nothing like my dad did in the build department. He has gnarled hands and a decent amount of muscle from years working in an auto parts factory, though in his older years, he’s developed a bit of a paunch. Today’s he’s wearing overalls and a faded shirt of some indeterminate off-white color, carrying a wrench. Even on his day off, he’s got some kind of task around the house to handle.

“When you two are finished,” he says, that knowing smirk growing wider, “your Aunt May’s made ya some breakfast.”

Gwen scrambles to stand up off of me, incidentally elbowing my stomach, earning a grunt of pain as I sit up.

  
“Oh!” she says with a small laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get some breakfast,” I say, following her past Uncle Ben, who cuffs me on the shoulder and follows behind.

“Not a word,” I mouth at him, and he just winks at me, breaking off on the first floor to head down to the basement. Gwen and I enter the kitchen, which smells delicious, of course, finding Aunt May at the sink, washing up some dishes.

“There you two are,” she says, smiling over her shoulder before nodding in the direction of two plates waiting on the counter. “I don’t know what you two were doing up there, and I don’t really want to, but if your breakfast is cold, you’ll just have to nuke it.”

“Sorry, Aunt May,” Gwen says, smiling and taking a testing bite. “Nope, perfect, as usual.”

“Thanks, Aunt May,” I say, grabbing a plate of my own. Scrambled eggs, sausage and a little scoop of hashed browns, the Aunt May Classic. Sometimes, she breaks out the wheatcakes, but those are usually a Sunday brunch deal. We make our way to the tiny dining room table, sitting and tucking in.

As we’re eating, my phone buzzes again, and I tug it out of my pocket.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[U having a birthday party or anything next weekend?]_

**_To: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[I usually just have some friends over to hang out.]_

I hesitate a bit before mustering up my courage and typing out the next message.

**_To: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[Wanna come over?]_

Worst she can say is no, right?

“Who you texting?” Gwen asks stuffing some hashed browns in her mouth. Aunt May strolls over with a glass of orange juice for her and milk for me. “Oh, thanks Aunt May.”

“Texting Jessica,” I say, gesturing at my phone. “She wants to come over for my birthday.”

“Jess Cambell?” Gwen asks, taking a drink of her juice. “She’s on the swim team. She’s pretty good.”

“Yeah?” I ask, taking a bite of eggs. “Um…does she…mention me?”

Gwen quirks an eyebrow, smirking at me. “Peter Parker, do you have a crush on Jessica Cambell?”

“Yeah, right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “She’s out of my league anyway.”

“Oh, don’t say that about yourself,” she huffs, pouting and fixing me with a little glare. “You are smart, funny, and you _can_ be pretty charming when you’re not being some kind of emo hipster.”

“When have I ever acted emo?” I ask incredulously.

Hey, I’m shameless hipster, and I own up to it.

“When you say stuff like ‘she’s out of my league’ like that,” Gwen says, resting her face on her palm as Uncle Ben walks in behind her carrying some kind of pressure valve from our water heater, currently caked in grease. Gwen looks back and spots him. “Uncle Ben, Peter thinks there’s a girl that’s out of his league at school.”

“No girl is out of your league, Pete, they’re just looking for something different,” Uncle Ben says. “Heck, some of them don’t even _know_ what they’re looking for. Your Aunt May thought she was looking for rich and classy, but he was actually looking for old humble carnie Uncle Ben.”

“You were a carnie?” Gwen asks, sounding shocked.

“Coney Island,” Uncle Ben says, a nostalgic smile spreading on his face. “Your aunt was dating some society type…something Jeremy?”

“Johnny Jerome,” Aunt May says, walking in with a plate of her own food. “’Society type’ my head. He was a snake. Robbery, assault….”

“Bad guy,” Gwen nods.

“I tried to warn you,” Uncle Ben says, fixing Aunt May with an innocent look.

“Yes, but I was a young, foolish girl,” Aunt May says with a wistful smile. “Thank goodness Johnny showed his true colors before I could get in too deep.”

“And it was true love ever since?” Gwen asks, giggling a bit as Uncle Ben dips his head and places a smooch attack on Aunt May’s cheek, causing her to chuckle and shove him away.

“I put up with him,” she says loftily, and Uncle Ben feigns a hurt look.

“I see how it is,” he says, turning to me and winking as he plops down at the table. “Point is, love isn’t always where you’re looking for it. Sometimes it just happens.”

We finish our breakfast, and soon enough, we’re making our way to the bus stop, Aunt May seeing us off the front porch while Uncle Ben works on the water heater in the basement. As we walk, I pull my phone out of my pocket.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[um, hell yea! I’m not gonna skip out on your birthday! Let me know what time it is sometime this week!]_

I look over at Gwen, who’s just trotting along, humming a little song to herself. She glances back and quirks a curious eyebrow before spotting my phone.

“Oh, texting your girlfriend?” she asks, and I roll my eyes with a small snort.

“She is not my girlfriend,” I say, tucking my phone back in my pocket. “She probably doesn’t even like me that way.”

“Uh, we’re talking about the same girl, right?” Gwen asks incredulously. “Jess Cambell? Who flirts with you on the daily, passed up the volleyball team so she could be on the school paper with you, and gushes over you all the time while we’re at swim practice? She is hardcore crushing on you, Pete.”

And then she says the words that cause years of slowly built up false hope of the prospect of a relationship to crumble into little pieces and collapse like a snowman in March.

“You should ask her out.”

It’s like a scene in a horror movie. All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy. You should ask her out.

_You should ask her out._

_Ask her out._

_You should ask her out._

Ouch, Gwen.

Very ouch.

I manage to smile at her, shrugging. “Maybe I will,” I say, sighing as we reach the bus stop. We wait in silence, Gwen texting some girl she met at school and seems to be becoming fairly good friends with. She’s lamented to me before that Harry and I are great, but she wants at least one girl friend.

There’s no Gwen Stacy naptime today, but I don’t mind. Frankly, after the revelation that she apparently doesn’t view me as any sort of romantic prospect, I sort of just want some time alone to…dwell. Sort out my emotions. I’m not so shallow as to call “friendzone” and get all salty about it, but I was apparently subconsciously entertaining the idea, despite constantly telling myself that it was impossible, that she was out of my league.

_No girl is out of your league, Peter, they’re just looking for something different._

I pull my phone out, seeing a new text.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[get to school already so I can bug you! also morning track practice mr. photographer]_

Oh, right, I’m a photographer for the school newspaper. Liam has already taken a shine to me, it seems, telling me I have a good eye for angles and framing, so he frequently sends me on assignments to take pictures of teams, locations, important events, all manner of things that need photographed. I even got free reign of the first pep rally to run around and take all kinds of pictures.

Those extra dozen shots of the cheerleaders were just to make sure I got the perfect angle. Totally. It wasn’t due to that redheaded one that noticed me and started posing like she was born to be a model.

I might have a thing for redheads.

The bus pulls up to the school, and we disembark. Gwen goes to find Harry, and I break off to crash track practice. I make my way around the school, ducking between crowds of students milling around before classes begin.

As I’m walking, someone collides with me, nearly bowling me over, and it’s all I can do to save the camera in my hands from crashing to the sidewalk. I look over to see the same alpha-jock group that gave us trouble on the first day of school. I’ve since learned that the leader-type’s name is actually Carl King, and he’s apparently just a huge douchebag. Right now, he’s smirking at me, having just shoved one of his dude-bro friends into me.

“Watch where you’re going, Pecker,” he says as his pal hurries back over with a snicker.

Creative. Never heard that one before.

I just continue on, because Carl probably bench-presses weights heavier than me and I don’t feel like getting hospitalized so soon before my birthday. The track comes into view, and I make my way to a set of bleachers, climbing up to the top and plopping down. It’s a cool morning, and I find myself having to zip up my light jacket against the breeze. In the distance, I hear indistinct yelling and chatter from the practicing teams, the occasional tweet of a whistle before two distant figures go zooming along the track. I recognize one as the redheaded cheerleader from the pep rally; apparently, she’s on the track team, too, and wow, she’s fast. She reaches the coach seconds ahead of her partner and skids to a stop, spotting me with my camera and waving eagerly, pulling another pose. I obligingly snap a picture, chuckling to myself.

I take a few distance shots of the team practicing before the coach flags me over.

“Newspaper?” he asks as I approach, and I nod. “MJ! C’mere!”

The same redhead comes dashing over, smiling brightly at me. She eyes me appraisingly, and I see that look I always get from girls like her; that playful amusement, like I’d be a good friend to just mess with and flirt with for the sake of attention.

That’s not a very kind thought, though; I’m sure she’s nice.

“This is Mary Jane Watson, and she’s taking us to state,” the coach says proudly, and Mary Jane just shrugs, smiling sheepishly.

“Aw, coach, you’re gonna make me blush!” she says with a laugh. “Keep talking….”

“Oh, hush up and smile at the camera,” the coach says, clapping her on the shoulder. “Ladies, fall in!”

The rest of the team gathers up behind the pair, clustering together and smiling hugely at the camera. I take a few steps back and frame them all, motioning for one straggler to get into frame, which causes a brief bout of giggles as she playfully shoves her teammates out of the way to get closer. I snap the picture, shooting them a thumbs-up, and they all scatter to get back to their drills.

“Thanks, kid,” the coach says, turning to guide a couple of girls through a stretching routine. Mary Jane peers at me, canting her head to the side.

“You’re in last period gym, right?” she asks. “Gwen’s friend?”

“Peter,” I introduce myself.

“Nice to finally meet you, Peter,” she says. “You’ve only been sort of like my unofficial photographer for like two weeks.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” I say, shrugging bashfully. “Is it corny to say the camera loves you?”

“Only a whole lot,” she says, giggling. “But corny is appropriate sometimes.”

“MJ! Don’t cool off, keep your energy up!” Mary Jane turns to see the coach shouting at her. “I wanna see you set a new best time before we’re done here!”

She rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in a little wave. “I gotta go kill myself before the coach is happy with me, so see you later!”

She turns and jogs away, shouting something at the coach, leaving me watching the way her red ponytail bobs with her movements, swaying enticingly above the swell of her –

“You staring at Watson’s butt?” a voice says, and I jump, turning to see Jess smirking at me, quirking an eyebrow. “I bet you became a photographer just to perv on the girls’ sports teams, hm?”

“No comment,” I say, feeling my face heat up.

“Right, and you weren’t staring at Gwen and me in our swimsuits at practice last week?” she asks, folding her arms.

“Still no comment,” I say, stepping back and snapping a picture of her with her arms folded, the morning sun glinting in her hair. “Oh, tilt your head just like half an inch to your left?”

“Like this?” she asks, complying. I’m just about to snap the picture when her hand whips up, and she flips the bird, sticking her tongue out just as my finger presses the button. I roll my eyes, checking the screen. It’s actually a decent shot.

“You’re a natural,” I tell her as she joins me, giggling.

“You need to send that to me,” she says. “I’m making that my Facebook picture.”

“I’ll have it to you tonight,” I tell her, and she smiles, observing as the track practice winds down, the girls starting to drift toward the locker rooms to get ready for class.

“So, birthday boy, what do you want for your fifteenth?” she asks as we cross the field and head back for the school. The crowds have thinned out a bit, and I’m glad to see that Carl and the Douche-Canoes have cleared out.

“People keep asking me that,” I say, thinking of Harry’s request. Maybe he could show me his dad’s lab? It’s a long-shot, but I’ve always wanted to see what kind of crazy future technologies Oscorp is working on, especially since they just hired Tony Stark to lead their R&D department. “I really have no idea.”

Jess nods, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of nervousness on her face. She walks in silence for a long minute before turning suddenly to me, pulling me to a stop. Her soft hand grips mine, my fingers reflexively allowing hers to slide between them and squeeze gently.

“Maybe like…a girlfriend?” she asks, biting her lip, bouncing on her heels and staring at her feet before she manages to look me in the eye.

Holy shit.

I stare at her for a long moment, and all I can do is attempt to come to terms with what she just asked. When I do, I’m tempted just to savor the moment, to relish in the fact that an attractive girl, the kind that I never dreamed could be interested in me, apparently _is_. But she looks so nervous at my lack of response that I manage a nod.

“I…yes, a…girlfriend would…probably make this the best birthday ever,” I manage.

Yes! Good job! This isn’t a movie; the male romantic lead can say words! Jess brightens a bit, smiling and stepping closer.

“So, um…” she looks shyly at me, but if she’s got anything else to say, it has to wait; the warning bell rings loudly right above us, causing us both to jump. We hurry for the school, Jess pulling me to a stop to plant a kiss on my cheek when we get inside.

“See you at lunch!” she says, turning and hurrying away.

Just before my first class starts, as people are still finding their seats and the teacher is finishing his coffee, I get a little buzz in my pocket from my phone. I quickly slip it out of my pocket and look to see a Facebook notification.

_“Jessica Cambell has sent you a Relationship request!”_

I tap confirm, and I’m rewarded with the sight of those most coveted of words.

_Peter Parker went from “single” to “in a relationship”._

Best. Birthday present. Ever.

 

“So, _she_ asked _you_ out?” Harry asks as we walk to the cafeteria. Gwen had to stay behind to talk to Mr. Wyler about something, so it’s just the two of us. “Jeez, this chick really is crazy about you.”

“I _know_ ,” I say, unable to keep the huge grin off my face. “She already made if Facebook official and everything.”

“Shit, son, my boy’s becoming a man,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I won’t lie, I’m a bit salty you got a girlfriend before me, but you do have that whole quiet artsy nerd hipster thing going for you.”

“And you have the whole retro punk skater rich bad boy thing going for _you_ ,” I say, shrugging. “Everyone’s got a niche.”

“Yeah, but not all niches get bitches,” Harry shoots back, and I snort.

“Did you just think of that?”

“Literally just popped into my head when you said niche,” he says, sounding proud. “For real, though, congrats, man. I just think you should’ve asked Gwen out. You fully sank my ship.”

“She told me I should ask _Jessica_ out,” I said. “I took that as like a subtle way of telling me she wasn’t into me like that.”

“She did? Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

We get in the lunch line, and I’m just reaching into my pocket for my phone when a set of arms wraps around me, and Jessica Cambell is hugging me, bringing that familiar perfumed scent with her as her slim body presses against me.

“What’s up, dork?” she says softly in my ear, and I turn to smile at her.

“I was about to text you asking if you wanted me to get you a lunch so you didn’t have to wait in line,” I say, and she gives me a pleased little smile.

“Aw, I have such a considerate boyfriend,” she says.

There it is. She said it. Being described as someone’s boyfriend, for a guy like me that thought college was (optimistically) the earliest he would ever meet someone is…spectacular, amazing, fantastic…. Jess gives me an amused smile as I just stare at her, poking me in the nose.

“You gonna say something?” she asks.

“I think you broke him,” Harry chuckle, dragging us both forward in line. “Suddenly he has a girlfriend that’s totally into him, it’s like emotional overload.”

Sometimes I’m amazed at how much Harry gets me. I just nod, and Jess smirks.

“Well, get used to it, Parker,” she says. “You have a girlfriend now.”

“I knew he was coerced into it,” Gwen’s voice said behind me, but she sounds amused, and when I turn, she’s wearing a little smile. “It’s like Beauty and the Beast, but the Beast is a pretty high-school girl.”

“Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful,” I say, and Gwen just rolls her eyes, shaking her head. Her gaze lands on Jess, and for a moment, I see an unreadable expression cross her face, but before I can even blink, it’s a friendly smile.

“You just take good care of our princess, hm?” she asks. I sigh, turning to Harry, deliberately tuning out their talk.

“Hey, so I know what I want for my birthday,” I tell him, and he turns, grinning at me.

“Aw, fuck yeah,” he says. “Lay it on me.”

“I wanna go see your dad’s lab,” I say. “He must have all kinds of awesome tech there, and I wanna just…see it.”

His grin melts to a slightly confused look, but he soon just shrugs. “Sure, why not?” he says. “I’ll ask him tonight. I’m sure he won’t care if it’s you poking around. Hell, you might come up with the next big Oscorp invention.”

“I don’t think I can compete with Tony Stark,” I say, smirking and shaking my head. Harry steps up to grab his lunch tray before turning and giving me a gentle punch on the shoulder.

“You’re also fourteen going on fifteen and could probably be going to college if you wanted to,” he says. “Stark’s like thirty years old. I bet when you’re thirty, you’re in charge of your own company. Parker Industries or something.”

“C’mon, I can think of something better than Parker Industries,” I say. “That’s so generic.”

“You know what I mean,” Harry said. “You can totally be the next Tony Stark. Minus the bankruptcy and stuff.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer without that part,” I say before once again, a set of arms wraps around my middle, one sneaking away to grab a tray as well.

“What are you getting?” Jess asks, poking me in the ribs, and I jerk away with a little laugh.

“I was thinking either spaghetti or fried chicken,” I say. “Can’t really decide.”

“Hmmm,” she hums thoughtfully. “I’ll get spaghetti, you get chicken, we’ll split.”

“Gosh, you are just a genius,” I say, chuckling and snagging up a plate of chicken, spooning out some mashed potatoes and some corn as well. Jess just smiles, bumping me with her hip.

“Just looking out for my _boyfriend_ ,” she says, and once again, my heart does a kind of backflip as I look at her and try to reconcile the fact that this is my girlfriend, that _she_ asked _me_ , no less.

I might get used to that someday.

I probably won’t.

“Oh, wow, are you two _dating_?” Gwen asks with dripping sarcasm, and I look back to see her smirking at us, dragging her own tray along the counter as she adds a chef salad and some tots. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Oh, c’mon, let them have their moment,” Harry says, stacking at least three soft pretzels on his tray, along with two giant cookies and an order of breadsticks.

Is he carbo-loading for something?

“They just started going out, let them show it off a little,” he goes on, and I shoot him a grateful smile, receiving a wink in return. “Besides, Pete probably didn’t expect to have a girlfriend ‘til, what…thirty?”

“At least,” I chuckle, and Harry laughs. Gwen just smirks, and Jess pokes me in the neck.

“As if anyone could resist that dorky little smile,” she says softly.

We pay for our lunches, finding our way to our usual seats. Jess actually started sitting with us on the second day of school, and the four seats at the end of Flash’s posse’s table have been unofficially given to us. Flash even makes an effort to save them if anyone else tries to sit in them.

“So, I’ll talk to my dad when he gets home tonight, but we can probably have you come over on Sunday, when the place is closed down,” Harry says. “Gwen, you can come, too. Dad knows you.”

“Awesome,” Gwen says, smiling up at Harry, who turns to Jess. Jess quirks an eyebrow, shrugging a bit.

“I get it, no invite for Jess,” she says wryly.

“I’m sorry, Jess, it’s just – “

“Your dad has no idea who I am and doesn’t wanna let some rando high-school girl into his multi-billion-dollar R&D facility,” she says. “Not unreasonable.”

“Pete, hang onto this one,” Harry chuckles.

“Yeah, I plan to,” I say, smiling over at her. “Hey, we could have a…a date on Saturday? Just us two?”

“I think that sounds wonderful,” Jess says, gently kicking my leg under the table before wrapping her ankle around mine, swinging our legs playfully. “Oh! Let me pick the place! It’s your birthday, so I have to pick the stuff.”

I smile at her. “Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

Having a girlfriend is seriously the best thing ever.

Every morning, after Gwen and I get off the bus, Jess is right there, linking her arm around mine and dragging me off to whatever photography errand I have to run, and if there’s nothing I need to do, she just tags along with Gwen and I to meet Harry.

Harry seems to love having her around, most likely because I’m much less my usual emo self, and apparently sappy puppy-love Peter Parker is much more fun to be around than mopey loner Peter Parker.

I think I agree.

Gwen…. I don’t know how she feels about the whole thing. I don’t know if _she_ knows how she feels about it. She definitely acts like she’s happy, and she’s at least outwardly kind to Jess, except for some occasional ribbing, but she never really gets mean-spirited about it. Sometimes, though, when she thinks no one’s looking, the smile falls, and she seems…thoughtful. Not upset or angry, just…like she’s stuck on a homework problem and just cannot figure out the answer.

Am I reading too much into this?

I’m probably reading too much into this.

Still, whenever I feel like I’m thinking too much about it, slim arms wrap around me, a soft, warm body pushes up against mine, and Jessica Cambell’s perfume wafts into the air around me, that soft whisper sending blazing tingles along my neck and scalp.

“Hey, dork.”

How does she make “dork” sound like a pet name?

“So, what are you doing tonight?” she asks as we make our way out front Wednesday afternoon. Harry has another skate-date with Flash, and Gwen is apparently working with the student council.

Go figure.

“I have to sort through the pictures on my SD card,” I say, patting my backpack, where my new digital camera (a rather extravagant early birthday present from Aunt May and Uncle Ben) is lovingly tucked into its own pocket and wrapped in a scarf. “Liam wants to do a First Month Back spread, so I have to dig through thousands of these things because I’m worthless and don’t delete the trial pics after I take the good one.”

She just giggles, rolling her eyes. “Well…if you want help, I’d be glad to be your critic,” she says, sounding adorably shy. “If, um…you wouldn’t mind me coming over for a little while?”

“No!” I say, perhaps a little too loudly, and I shake my head. “I mean…I don’t mind, you can…you can come over, that would be pretty great. Um…you’ll just have to like…chill in the living room for like five minutes because I’m a high-school boy whose room is just…. Just trust me.”

She lets another little giggle, a goofy grin spreading on her face as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Let me text Mom and tell her,” she says. “She’ll probably tell me something like ‘make sure there’s an adult around’ or something. Like, Mom…we just started going out three days ago.”

“Yeah, we should…probably wait until the five-day mark before things get serious, right?” I quip back, and she smirks.

“Oh, of course, then we’re just gonna run off and get married, right?” she says.

“Absolutely,” I say, chuckling now. “Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.”

She bursts out laughing as the bus pulls up, taking my hand as I lead her back to my usual seat. Both of us sit, Jess taking the window seat (of course), leaving me to tuck in my gangly arms to avoid getting bumped by any stray backpacks. My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to take a look.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[yo I called dad. He says were down for Sunday, so just be ready for Walton to pick you up at like noon]_

I send him a text back in the affirmative, smiling over at Jess, who scoots close and rests her head on my shoulder, reaching for my left hand with her right and snaking our fingers together. She lifts our hands up and pokes the back of mine with her other one, eyeing it intently.

“Tell me something about you I don’t know yet,” she says softly.

“Hm,” I lean my head back against hers, watching her poke and prod my hand like some creature she just found and decided needed the laziest inspection ever. “Oh. I actually love cats. I really want a pet cat, but Aunt May is really allergic to them.”

“Cats?” Jess says. “Hm. Most boys our age want a dog.”

“Dogs are so dumb, though,” I laugh.

“ _You’re_ dumb,” she says, giggling and nudging my shoulder.

“You really should be on the debate team,” I say, grinning at her. “You have such a way with words.”

She sticks her tongue out, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “And you are just….”

“A dork?” I ask.

“You said it, not me.”

 

After five frantic minutes stuffing every lazily discarded article of clothing in my room into my laundry hamper and collecting seriously twelve drinking glasses, six plates, and nine assorted forks and spoons, my room is mostly ready for its first female visitor (other than Gwen), who is waiting patiently in the living room chatting with Aunt May.

I’m trying not to think about what Aunt May could possibly be saying to her.

I make my way down the stairs and step into the living room, where Aunt May has fixed Jess a cup of tea. Jess looks up when I enter and smiles warmly at me.

“Pete, your aunt is so sweet,” she says. “And we both love Earl Grey tea!”

“Weak,” I say, smirking, and Aunt May gives me a beady-eyed look.

“Peter Parker, not everyone has to love sugar with a bit of chai tea mixed in,” she says, shaking her head with a glance at Jess. “When he first figured out how to make tea, he would steep it for so long, it would be strong enough to peel paint. Then he’d load it up with sugar and milk and have it gone in ten minutes and start bouncing off the walls.”

“That is just adorable!” Jess says, looking at me with a goofy smile. “Peter Parker getting hopped up on tea. Not like Mountain Dew or Red Bull, tea.”

“Hey, chai is strong stuff,” I insist. “My room’s all clean, so you can come on up.”

“You cleaned your room?” Aunt May asked incredulously. “And were those your dishes I heard clattering around in the sink?”

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. Aunt May glances over at Jess, patting her knee.

“You feel free to visit any time you please,” she says. “At least once a week, for the sake of keeping his room clean.”

“Aunt Maaaaay,” I groan as Jess stands, joining me in the doorway.

“Don’t you give me that,” Aunt May says, smiling at me. “You two go on, but Peter Parker, I expect you to be an absolute gentleman.”

“How can I be anything less when I was raised by you, Aunt May?” I shoot over my shoulder as we head for the stairs.

“Good answer,” is what she calls after us. We head upstairs, and Jess steps into my room, looking around like she expects to learn some deep secret about me based on what kind of lampshade I have or something.

 “I’m not gonna lie, I was expecting some kind of table covered in like…half-finished inventions or something,” she says.

“Inventions?” I ask, chuckling. “I’m the kind of science nerd that _reads_ about it. The most inventing I’ve ever done was the time I jailbroke Harry’s iPhone last year.”

“No way, you know how to do that?” she asks, flopping onto my bed.

“I mean, I read a tutorial and figured it out,” I say. It really wasn’t that hard.

“Still, even some of those tutorials make my head spin,” she says, shaking her head. “I tried to start a Minecraft server on my computer a few months ago, and I got to like step two and just gave up.”

I head over to my computer and plop into my chair, tapping the power button. The tower hums to life, and I spin my chair to face the bed, where Jess is sitting and smiling at me.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, holding her hands up. “Do your photography thing, I’m just a fly on the wall.”

“Yeah, right,” I mutter. “If all flies were as cute as you, I’d never be able to focus on anything ever again.”

“Oh my gosh, that was actually pretty smooth,” she says, leaning forward. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“I guess…having a girlfriend is good for the self-confidence?” I point out. She smiles at that.

“Good,” she says. “You’re the kind of guy I can see growing up to be like a more mellow hipster version of Tony Stark.”

“I wish,” I mutter. “He’s like…a Giorgio Armani model and Albert Einstein pie sprinkled with Winston Churchill flakes.”

“Alright, let me put it this way,” she says. “There are hundreds of boys at school, and I chose to ask _you_ out. Are you telling me I have bad taste in guys?”

I raise my finger.

Open my mouth.

And just don’t say anything because damn, how can I answer that question without putting my foot in my mouth?

“Thought so.”

Soon enough, Aunt May arrives under the pretense of delivering more tea and cookies that I would believe she literally just baked by accident when she let her mind wander, and I’m sure she’s checking to make sure I’m still being a gentleman. Seeing Jess lounging on my bed while I sit at my computer probably goes a long way toward putting her mind at ease.

“Peter, your Uncle Ben will be home shortly, and I’m going to make sloppy joes,” she says, and now that my bedroom door is open, I can smell beef sizzling on the stove. “Jessica, you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

“That sounds awesome, Aunt May, thanks,” she says. Aunt May shuts the door (a sign of trust that doesn’t go unnoticed) and Jess turns to me with a smile. “I get to meet Uncle Ben! What’s he like?”

“He’s like me but more worldly,” I say, clicking a few pictures and deleting them. One has way too much sun glare, and another has a major case of possessed glowing eyeballs. The rest are just way too blurry.

“Worldly, hm?” she peers at me ponderously. “What would you be like with a dose of worldly? I can see you as like the hip young college professor that all the girls absolutely crush on.”

“And you’d be like the kind of woman that starts her own nightclub for nerds like me to actually attempt to socialize and be normal human beings.”

“With a little lounge in the back for D&D, of course,” she says, smiling. “Can’t have them stepping too far out of their comfort zones.”

“So considerate,” I say, spinning back to my computer screen and scrolling down. I spot a few pictures that I ended up taking of Mary Jane at the pep rally, and I hear a snort of laughter behind me.

“Mary Jane Watson is such an attention whore,” Jess says. “Every time a camera’s on her, she finds it and does some Vanity Fair pose.”

“She seems nice enough,” I say, turning to face her. “Maybe a bit full of herself, but….”

“She’s alright,” Jess admits, “but yes, very full of herself.”

“Well, yeah, but who else would she be full of?” I ask, chuckling, and Jess raises her eyebrows, an impish little smile on her face.

“Peter Parker, is that a question you wanna ask about a sexy redheaded cheerleader? Because the answer’s probably gonna be half the boys’ track team in a few months.”

I blink several times before the meaning behind her words hits me, and I feel my face heat up, spinning my chair frantically back to the computer screen as Jess cackles behind me, and I feel her come up and hug me.

“You are so cute!”

Women.

Soon enough, Uncle Ben arrives home, knocking several times before peeking into my room, announcing that he “didn’t see any neckties, so it must be alright” and just saying hello before heading to change out of his work clothes.

“Neckties?” Jess asks.

“It’s…he’s an idiot sometimes.”

“A worldly idiot, though, right?”

We make our way downstairs, where Aunt May is already setting the table, spooning some sloppy joes onto buns and serving them up.

“Go ahead and eat up,” she says. “Your uncle said not to wait on his account.”

“Thanks, Aunt May, it smells delicious,” Jess says, sitting to my right.

“It’s an ancient Reilly family recipe passed down to me by my mother, who learned it from her mother, who read it in a Betty Crocker recipe book,” Aunt May says sagely, nodding her head. Jess bursts into giggles, taking a bite. Aunt May serves herself up some dinner and has a seat as well, and we all dig in.

“Oh, the famous Reilly Family Sloppy Joes, brought to you by Betty Crocker, hm?” Uncle Ben asks, joining us. He spoons himself a bunch, smothering his bun and then piling shredded cheese on top of that.

“You know, Uncle Ben, the point of a sandwich is to be able to eat it with your hands, not a knife and fork,” I point out as he grabs the utensils in question from a drawer.

“I try not to let society bog me down in their rules and policies,” he says as he settles into his seat with a sigh of relief at finally getting off of his feet. “What is it that Taco Bell always says? Think outside the bun?”

“They haven’t used that slogan in years, and you’re thinking _all over_ the bun,” I point out.

“Details, details,” Uncle Ben says, scooping up a forkful and taking a bite. “Mm, amazing as ever May.”

“Betty Crocker never disappoints,” May says with a nod.

“So, Jessica?” Uncle Ben asks. “You’re the one that’s got Pete over the moon lately.”

“I sure hope so,” Jess says, smiling over at me. “It’s so nice to finally meet both of you. Pete’s so great, I’ve wanted to meet the people that raised him for a while.”

Uncle Ben smiles at her. “Well, we’ve been waiting for someone to realize what a catch our Pete is, so thanks for making him so happy.”

“Aw, he makes me happy, too,” Jess says, smiling over at me. I blush and take another bite of my sandwich.

“And what do you do at school?” Aunt May asks. “Are you on the newspaper with Peter?”

“Yep,” Jess says, glancing at me again and ducking her head. “Um…confession time, I actually joined the paper to spend time with you.”

Wow.

“Um…glad you did,” I say, smiling, and she playfully pushes my shoulder.

“I’m also on the swim team, but that’s second to the paper,” she says. “I love working with Pete.”

“Goodness, Ben, remember when you were that head over heels for me?” Aunt May asks, and Uncle Ben chuckles, reaching for her hand.

“Still am,” he says. “Alright, it’s getting a bit late. Pete, why don’t you walk your little lady there to the bus stop. We’ll handle the dishes.”

“Sure thing,” I say, standing. Jess steps up as well, taking my hand in both of hers and following me from the kitchen. We both step into our shoes and out into the cool autumn evening.

 

“Your aunt and uncle are completely adorable,” Jess says as we walk hand in hand to the bus stop. “I just want them to adopt me.”

“Well, that would make us like…” I trail off. They’re my legal guardians, so we’d be… “foster…siblings?”

“Don’t care, would still date you,” she says in a singsong voice. “I had a ton of fun though, for real. I mean…I’ve always wanted the kind of boyfriend I can just…do nothing with. Chilling on your bed while you just do stuff…it was awesome. But I’m still dragging your ass somewhere awesome for our date on Saturday.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, smiling at her, and she giggles. We reach the bus stop just as the bus is rolling up the street, and she turns to me, biting her lip nervously. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she’s kissing me.

It’s a clumsy affair, with a bit of tooth-knocking, but we settle into it before long, and frankly the kiss itself isn’t the highlight of this moment as much as the knowledge that she actually _wants_ to kiss me. Of course, the kiss is still pretty good, all things considered. Her hand comes up to gently run down my chest before slowly pushing me away as the bus doors open with a pneumatic hiss. She giggles at me as we separate, her shoulders hunching up as she gives me an impish little smile.

“We’ll work on it,” she says.

“A lot, I hope,” I manage to stammer back, and she just giggles.

“Yes, gosh, we just need to practice like…every waking moment,” she says, turning and queuing up to get on the bus. “See you tomorrow.”

“For more practice,” I say, and she just smirks, stepping onto the bus.

As I walk home, the chill of the evening air seeming to not bite quite as hard as it probably should, my phone buzzes. Pulling it out of my pocket, I see a new text.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[start using chap stik or something! <3 Text me when you get home so I know you weren’t mugged!]_

This is not at all what I pictured when I imagined my high school life.

It’s just so much better.


	4. Chapter 4

I look weird.

Not like…I mean, I don’t think I _generally_ look weird, but I definitely do tonight. It’s not weird in a bad “ew” way, though; I mean, I look…different. My hair has been done up with what Gwen calls “the perfect amount of gel”, and I’m wearing some of Harry’s old clothes that probably cost like a thousand dollars, making me look just the right combination of “I just want to look casual” and “I also want people to know I’m stupid rich and will drop a grand just to look casual”. Add in a dusting of Old Spice Lionpride, and I’m ready for a first date.

Which…. That’s where I’m at. I’m on my first date with Jess, which she apparently thought was best spent at a new photography exhibit at the PS 1 Contemporary Art Center. Not that I’m knocking it; it’s amazing. Some of these people are extremely talented, and looking at the beautiful pictures on display just makes me want to go out and take a thousand pictures until I get better, like photography is a skill you can just level up or something.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, marveling at how pale and pasty my skin looks under the fluorescent bathroom lights, like one of those movie shots that’s been bleached of color to make it seem more “stark” or something. Pushing my glasses up my nose, I stand and head back for the museum proper, pausing when my phone buzzes.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[yo, how’s the date going?]_

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[we’re having a lot of fun, actually. Thanks for loaning me the clothes. And Walton.]_

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[np bud. Text me details when its over. I wanna know if my boy becomes a man.]_

I feel my face heat up, stuffing my phone back in my pocket. It’s our first date, Harry, you pervert. Besides, if Jessica Cambell told me she wanted me to take her to bed tonight, I’d probably just have a panic attack.

I step out of the bathroom and into the gallery. Soft music is piped in from speakers on the ceiling, and a low trickle of conversation constantly murmurs in the background. Waiting for me, wearing a white sundress and a chestnut brown cardigan, Jess looks absolutely stunning. I take one moment to reflect on the fact that this amazing young woman is my girlfriend before making my way over. She smiles at me and wraps her arms around one of mine, bumping her head against my shoulder.

“Doof,” she says softly as her head connects, and I chuckle. “So did you have one of those mega-intense staring-at-the-mirror moments like in action movies where you psych yourself up for the big event?”

“Oh, of course,” I say. “The first date psych-up is worthy of a mention in the trailer.”

Jess giggles softly, leading me through the exhibit. “I can see it now,” she says. “Camera pans across you staring into the mirror, voice-over of you saying ‘C’mon, Pete, you got this. It’s just a date.’ And you go to open the door and the screen flashes white.”

“Don’t forget the orchestral swell and the faster and faster glimpses of, like…me running down a sidewalk or the two of us leaning in for a kiss, and then like…running from a building and jumping right as it explodes.”

“And then everything gets quiet as the camera shows a first-person view of someone lying on the ground as you step over them and say something like, ‘Should’ve seen this coming.’ And then you raise a weapon, but it cuts away before you can swing it.”

“Why aren’t we making movie trailers?” I ask, looking over at her, and she just laughs, shrugging.

“I mean, we totally could,” she says, her hands sliding down my arm, one drifting to her side while the other takes mine, lacing our fingers together. She pauses in front of a black and white picture of a very tiny spider crawling on a flower. Staring at it for a long moment, she eventually turns to me.

“What got you into photography originally?” she asks, pulling me along. “Why do you like it so much?”

I follow her, humming thoughtfully. We stop in front of a picture of a fireman cradling a small child while a building blazes in the background.

“Well…I guess it’s just…I love the way it’s possible to capture these little pieces of the world, you know?” I say. “I was always awful at drawing, and I was never that great at coming up with ideas anyway. But I could look at something the world had given me, frame it just right, and capture it forever in a moment. And long after the subject of the picture was gone, after that moment had faded, I still had this picture of it.”

“Vert artsy for a self-professed science nerd,” she says with a smile.

“Well, science is art,” I say with a shrug.

“Oh, you’ll have to explain that one,” she tells me, and we stop at a bench, settling down. She scoots right up and rests her head on my shoulder, playing with my hand.

“Well, I mean…take a geode, for instance,” I tell her. “Thanks to a perfect combination of minerals under the right amounts of pressure, you have this absolutely beautiful crystal. It’s like a work of art made by the Earth using science. Or…flowers,” I go on, gesturing at a picture of a field of flowers in front of us. “Thanks to hundreds of tiny chemical reactions going off at rates we can’t even comprehend, this little plant is growing a beautiful flower. Or even you.”

“Me?” she asks softly, staring at my hand. “What about me?”

“Do you know what Chaos Theory is?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “It’s like a mathematic principle but it has a lot of sway in science fields. So…you, sitting right here, are the result of billions of potential combinations of genetics. If anything leading up to your life had gone any differently, if your parents had met one day sooner, if your ancestors had even moved slightly different at the right point in their lives, you could have turned out completely different. You could have brown hair instead of red, you could have different interests. Heck, you could’ve been born a guy that lives in Milwaukee. But you weren’t. You turned out just the way you did, and science helps us understand that, and that just makes it so much more awesome to know. Thanks to a series of completely random events over the course of hundreds, maybe thousands of years, we’re sitting here talking, and I’m…really grateful for that.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I have just enough time to panic that I threw her off with what basically amounts to a love letter to science before she leans in and presses a soft, searing kiss to my lips. Her hand comes up, and I feel her fingers trailing along my jaw. I’m not sure what to do with my own hands, so I just kind of support myself with one as I lean in, my other hand coming up to her shoulder.

It's only when I realize that I’m tasting cinnamon cappuccino on her tongue that a loud throat-clearing nearby makes us jump apart, and we look up to see a mocha-skinned museum worker wearing an amused look as she gazes down at us.

“Alright, y’all are adorable, but no PDA, okay?” she asks.

“Sorry,” Jess says sheepishly, smiling and giggling a bit. The worker just walks off, shaking her head a bit. Jess turns to me and bumps me with her shoulder. “Not sorry,” she adds in a whisper. “Also, was I getting a hint of mango in that kiss?”

I smile a bit and reach into my pocket, withdrawing a small item and showing it to her, causing her to stifle a burst of laughter.

“Oh my God, Burt’s Bees,” she says, shaking her head. “You are such a hipster!” She stands and drags me back to my feet. “C’mon, let’s go see if we can find any artistic nudes and brag to Harry that we saw tits.”

This girl is amazing.

……

On the way home, after dropping Jess off at her house, it’s just Walton and me in the car, and frankly, he’s not one for conversation, so I’m tapping away at my phone. I make a quick Facebook check, smiling when I see Jess’s newest status.

_“Just got back in from a date with my lovely and awesome boyfriend, Peter Parker! <3 Best night ever!”_

Moments later, I get a text from Harry.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[bro]_

_[details]_

_[are you a man?]_

I sigh, sending a text back.

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[I’m perfectly happy staying a boy for now. We had a lot of fun]_

I can almost see the smug grin on his face when I get the next text.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[such a romantic young gentleman. I’m stoked for you tho. This girl seems pretty crazy about you.]_

I smile and send a reply.

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[I’m pretty crazy about her.]_

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[aw young love! Alright bro im about to stream a destiny sesh so TTYL]_

I send a quick “TTYL” in response and stare out the window as the car zooms through the evening. The sun has long since set, the only light from the lamps along the streets, flashing by in a steady slideshow that illuminates the inside of the car at regular intervals. It’s nice, quiet, relaxing. All this week, I was something of a nervous wreck, excitedly dreading my very first date ever, but it was an extremely enjoyable experience, and now that it’s over, I just feel sort of…happily drained. Tomorrow’s going to prove to be exciting as well, but it’s going to be an outing with my two best friends, familiar, nothing to be nervous about.

I guess I’m just very content right now.

My phone buzzes again, and I take a look. This time, it’s from Gwen.

**_From: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[Hey, doofus. Jess is gushing at me over FB. Apparently you’re a smooth operator.]_

**_To: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[I felt like I was just rambling and suddenly we were kissing.]_

**_From: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[You’re cute when you ramble]_

_[She says.]_

_[Anyway, tomorrow. Harry’s probably gonna stay up until like five and sleep in super late.]_

_[Do you wanna hit up some Arby’s before we go there?]_

**_To: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[Uh, fuck yea. When have I ever said no to Arby’s?]_

**_From: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[Awesome! I’ll buy, since you’re the birthday boy. No hogging the curly fries, though!]_

**_To: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[No promises. ;) ]_

**_From: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[Peter Parker, don’t you dare! I will tell your aunt on you!]_

**_To: Gwenjamin Franklin_ **

_[Tattletale!]_

The car pulls up at my house, and I thank Walton for driving us around tonight. He just gives me a little nod as I climb from the car, shutting the door with a sharp snap and making my way through the slick, cool night up to the porch. Aunt May, of course, left the porch light on, the soft buzzing joining the distant rush of the cars that always seem to be on the move in the city.

I open the door, stepping inside to the warm house and pausing for a moment as my glasses fog up and clear. Sliding my shoes off, I shut the door and lock it behind me, switching the porch light off.

“I’m home,” I call to the house, and before I even finish speaking, Aunt May and Uncle Ben are both emerging from the living room, twin expectant grins on their faces.

“How’d it go?” Aunt May asks. I just roll my eyes, but I can’t stop a smile.

“It went really great,” I tell her. “I managed to be a charming nerd instead of an antisocial one.”

“Atta boy,” Uncle Ben says, clapping me on the shoulder. “The Parker charm, women are powerless to resist.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Aunt May says, looking sidelong at him before turning back to me with a warm smile. “I’m so glad it went well. This girl’s a wonderful match for you. Now, if you’re hungry, there’s leftover meatloaf in the fridge.”

“Thanks, Aunt May,” I say, heading into the kitchen, which is dimly lit by the bright fluorescent light above the sink. I can hear them settling back into the living room, speaking in low voices about how I seem a lot happier and a lot more confident now that I have a girlfriend.

Presumably, they don’t think I can overhear.

I microwave up some meatloaf, checking Facebook on my phone while I do. Jess’s post about our date has garnered a slew of likes and a comment from her father about wanting to “meet the lucky boy”. A few girls from school also commented, apparently surprised at her choice of boyfriend. To my surprise, Jess has replied to every skeptical comment, spouting glowing praise of my wit, charm, and adorkability.

Her words, not mine.

Seeing her words out there, on Facebook for everyone to see, is…frankly heartwarming. The only girl to ever show interest in me, and it’s obvious she’s pretty crazy about me and willing to share it with the world.

Things are looking up for Peter Parker.

I pass through the entryway, peeking into the living room to thank Aunt May for the meatloaf before making my way up to my room. Switching the lights on and shutting the door, I take a moment to just relax, soak in the solitude. No matter what, when I need it to be, my room is my bastion, a safe haven away from any and all social obligations.

Hey, I’m an introvert at heart.

I strip to the skivvies, neatly folding Harry’s expensive borrowed clothes (though I suspect he’ll simply tell me to keep them) before sliding into some sweats and baggy t-shirt. Snagging my phone, I make my way to my desk, flopping into my seat and switching on my computer.

While I don’t usually accept gifts, especially expensive ones, one year, Harry got me a fancy HP computer for Christmas, though he insisted it was just a castoff from Oscorp, discarded after upgrading to a new system. Either way, the thing is a beast, and my already feeble protests were quickly waved off when I saw the specs. To this day, I’m still thankful I swallowed my pride long enough to accept it.

And now it’s sort of my connection to the outside world.

I open up Google Chrome, because Firefox has done me wrong and Microsoft Edge was a flop before it even launched. People complain that Google’s browser takes up too much processing power, but my computer has like 20 gigs of RAM and one of Oscorp’s proprietary StarkTech processors.

Perfect for running Minecraft with an HD resource pack, shaders, and about a thousand different mods.

It’s the one game I actually play. The rest of the time, I usually just watch Harry do his let’s play videos.

Tonight, though, I’m not in the mood for Minecraft. I’m feeling wiped from the stress of my first date (though most of the stress turned out to be _before_ the actual date, which went swimmingly), so I just load up the SD card from my camera and sift through the photos I’ve been spam-collecting the past few days. A few clicks later, Spotify is dropping some heavy dubstep beats (a secret passion of mine) while I scroll and scroll through hundreds of snapshots.

A pinging on my screen announces that I have a Facebook message.

**_Jessica Cambell:_ **

_Hey, you. :) I had a ton of fun tonight! Next time you can pick the place._

_Preferably one that’s more friendly to couples that wanna make out for a little while._

**_Peter Parker:_ **

_Yeah, that museum is going to get a fairly positive Yelp review, but I’ll be adding a suggestion for more makeout spots._

**_Jessica Cambell:_ **

_Such a proactive citizen. ;) So what are you doing?_

**_Peter Parker:_ **

_Sorting through more pictures. I take an awful lot of those._

**_Jessica Cambell:_ **

_You’d almost think it was your hobby or something._

_Alright, sort your pictures. I’d be a bad girlfriend if I didn’t let my boyfriend have his personal time._

**_Peter Paker:_ **

_Best girlfriend ever._

**_Jessica Cambell:_ **

_Goodnight! <3_

I lean back in my chair, which creaks a bit, and stare up at the ceiling for a moment. In my head, I keep replaying those blissful couple of hours, all dressed up and looking good, tucked into a trendy modern art hall with a beautiful girl at my side, eyes only for each other. Jess is everything I could want out of my high school romantic life. Thinking about spending more time with her, seeing that coy little smile she sometimes gets, the wry affection in her voice when she calls me a dork…I get this anxious tightness in my chest that’s not at all unpleasant.

But….

Why do I get that same weird feeling when I think about spending time with Gwen, even if it’s just brunch at Arby’s? I mean, I definitely used to have a major crush on her, and I’m not stupid enough to think I can just push those feeling aside even if I have a truly awesome girlfriend to direct them towards. It’s not like you can just…transfer your feelings for someone onto someone else. I’m emotionally stunted, and even _I_ know they don’t work that way.

And Gwen…she’s been acting differently lately, even more so than when Jess and I just started dating. It’s like…she’ll be super nice and sweet to me, but as soon as Jess shows up, at lunch or after school or during study-sessions cramming for a test, she gets…moody. Or, I _think_ she does. Harry doesn’t notice, but it’s like…she cranks up the sass, the sarcasm, like she’s afraid of genuinely having fun with Jess around.

I’ve read enough fan fiction to suspect that she might be jealous of Jess and I, that she didn’t know she might even _like_ me until I was “off the market”, so to speak, and now she’s beating herself up over it. But that would be kind of presumptuous and _very_ arrogant of me to think.

I don’t know.

High school isn’t going at all the way I thought it would. I thought it would be more like some old vintage eighties movie where the nerdy kid is ignored at best and bullied at worst. It’s more like an episode of Dawson’s Creek or something.

Not that I ever watched that show.

I may have watched that show.

The fan fiction I read may have been based on that show.

I’m going to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

This has to be history in the making. This is…amazing. Even as I watch the scene unfold before my eyes, I can scarcely believe it’s happening.

Gwen Stacy has overslept.

Presumably, I mean. I’ve woken up, showered, dressed, and it’s just nearing noon when I say my goodbyes to Aunt May and Uncle Ben, heading down the front porch and crossing the short distance between the Parker and Stacy households.

Growing up, Gwen and her dad were regulars at our doorstep, Gwen often stopping by for dinner when George Stacy’s duties as Captain at the NYPD prevented him from preparing a much-needed home-cooked meal, or when she was just feeling lonely and wanted to nerd out with her best pal Pete.

Her words, not mine.

As Gwen and I grew up, her visits only became more frequent, to the point that Aunt May and Uncle Ben now have a “no-questions” policy, allowing Gwen to just come on over any time she feels like she needs to for whatever reason she has or doesn’t have.

This apparently came in handy a couple of years ago when Gwen was paid a visit by “the ugly side of puberty” and her dad just wasn’t ready to deal with that, so Aunt May sat her down for a talk that I gladly shut out with some noise-cancelling headphones.

We don’t really talk about that day too often.

Sidetracked. Gwen Stacy has overslept, which is just unheard of. Historically, she’s always been the one to show up at least half an hour before I drag my sleep-zombie ass out of bed for school every morning. After waiting for her to show, I’ve treaded into uncharted territory and made my way up to her porch, knocking on her door. I wait for a minute or so before the door opens, and I take an involuntary step back as George Stacy peers down at me.

George Stacy is a mid-thirties man in the prime of fitness. With prematurely graying sandy-blond hair that’s an echo of the bright corn-silk locks his daughter sports, it’s obvious that the stress of his job takes a toll on him, but he carries himself like a man who’s used to the burden of responsibility and gladly accepts it. Like many single fathers of teenage daughters, he’s fiercely protective of Gwen, and I’m deeply thankful that he seems to view me as a responsible young man, because God help the boy that he concludes is going to be a bad influence on her.

Actually, it’s probably best that he’s never met Harry.

“Pete,” he says, nodding at me. “Gwen told me you two were going on a…an outing today. I have to run to the station, something’s come up.” I only just realize that he’s in uniform and quickly step out of his way. “She’s upstairs in her room, you can go right on up.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stacy,” I say as he brushes past me, fixing the collar on his uniform’s jacket. “Good luck out there!”

He raises a hand in a wave, not even looking back on the way to his car.

I step inside the house, which is almost a perfect replica of my own, this entire little neighborhood being basically just a copy-paste of a single template home with some slightly different paint jobs. The only difference is an obvious lack of what Aunt May would refer to in her old-fashioned way as “a woman’s touch”. The house is clean, but in an almost clinical, militaristic way. There are a few portraits hanging on the walls, and a couple hints of Gwen’s own decorative style in the form of a ceramic hippo on the end table that holds the house phone or a gaudy bear decoration in the middle of the small dining table, but for the most part, the house lacks the hundreds of little knickknacks I would expect someone as caring and maternal as Gwen’s mother would have collected and meticulously arranged over the years.

It's like someone started a drawing of a home but gave up before putting on the finishing touches.

I make my way up the stairs, hearing the soft buzz of the fan that Gwen Stacy simply cannot sleep without, even in the dead of winter, and peek into the first door on the right, feeling like I’m breaking some kind of sacred rule of having a best friend of the opposite sex. Gwen’s been in my room more times than I can count, though, whereas I can count the number of times I’ve been in hers on one hand. Still, something about it always feels different, simply by virtue of her being a girl and girls being mysterious otherworldly creatures that were put on this Earth to confuse and infuriate boys.

The room is…oddly unchanged since the last time I’ve been in it, a couple of years ago. She’s accumulated some makeup products I could never hope to identify, strewn across her dresser in a way I’d call haphazard but is probably meticulously organized to her. The books on her bookshelf have changed as well, shifting away from “tween” book series to more young adult fiction. Other than that, things seem mostly the same; she keeps a tight ship, no doubt a habit ingrained by her straight-laced father, so there’s no dirty laundry strewn about or discarded books or old school papers littering the floor.

Finally, my eyes drift over to her bed, and no shit, my heart skips a beat.

Gwen Stacy’s hair is an absolute crow’s nest of curls and kinks, strewn over her face and puffing every once in a while with a breath from her. She’s lying on her side, her face half-buried in her pillow, her legs tangled up in the blankets with one calf poking out from the sheets, and she’s seriously drooling a little.

Damn it, she’s adorable.

Stop it, Peter, you have a girlfriend that probably looks just as cute when she’s sleeping—and what are you doing watching your best friend sleep anyway!? Edward Cullen would be so proud!

I’m just retreating from the room when Gwen’s eyes flutter open, and she rolls onto her back. I’m transfixed as she stretches with a loud, unladylike grunt, taking in the sight of her ceiling and apparently reaching for her phone. She catches sight of me, and I feel a sense of detachment as I watch her eyes register my presence before she lets out a shriek. The jarring sound jerks me back to the presence, and I realize the gravity of my situation. Turning, I attempt to salvage some dignity as I scurry from the room, only to be called back.

“Peter Parker, you get the _fuck_ back here!”

How can I resist such soft, feminine charm?

I slowly peek my head back in—just in time to get smacked in the head by a fluffy slipper.

“Deserved that,” I admit.

“How long were you going Edward Cullen on me?” she asks.

“Seriously thirty seconds, tops,” I say. “Your dad let me in, and I was coming up to check on you.”

“Holy shit, I thought you were some kind of pervert that broke in and…ugh, that is _not_ how I wanted to wake up.” She glances at her phone, facepalming and looking up at me. “I overslept, of course. Late for a date I invited you on. Bad form.”

“Sorry,” I say, my face heating up as she crawls from under the covers. She’s wearing sleep shorts (so short!) and a t-shirt, and even though I’ve seen her in a bathing suit, I feel like I maybe shouldn’t be looking at her in her pajamas when I have a girlfriend that’s definitely not her? She turns back to me and quirks an eyebrow.

“Shut your eyes,” she says, folding her arms. I quickly comply. “Now cover them.”

“They’re shut, I swear – “

“Cover them,” Gwen says sternly, and I obligingly raise my hands to cover my closed eyes, wondering if I should expect another slipper to the face or something.

“Now, turn around,” she says, and I do so. Maybe she’s planning to do the wake-up slap to the back of the head?

Instead, what I hear is the soft flutter of fabric across skin, the muted flump as what is probably an article of clothing hits the floor.

It would be very unwise to open my eyes right now.

“I ended up staying up pretty late last night,” Gwen says, her voice moving across the room, and I hear her closet door opening. “Jess would not stop messaging me, and I ended up going full like forensic analyst, picking apart everything you said to her last night. She told me about your little speech about Chaos Theory and how we have like thousands of years of random hookups to thank for who we are today?”

“I like to think I put it a bit more poetically than that,” I say, looking blindly in the direction of her voice. I hear a couple of drawers opening, a thoughtful hum coming from her direction.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asks me.

“Um, probably a tie between red and blue?” I respond, shrugging.

“Hey, perfect,” she says, and the drawers close. “Anyway, I told her it sounds like you’re really into her. You _are_ really into her, right?”

“She’s pretty, smart, funny, and she actually likes it when I go full nerd,” I say, keeping my eyes firmly covered. “What’s not to like?”

“A lot of people like it when you go full nerd,” Gwen says, her words briefly muffled. “Heck, I go full nerd _with_ you.” Moments later, I feel her fingers wrap around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face and spinning me around. I open my eyes, and she’s smiling up at me, wearing a black skirt and tank-top with a white button-up blouse, running a brush through her hair in an attempt to tame her bedhead, finally tucking it back with a black headband.

“What do you think?” she asks, gesturing at her ensemble.

“I mean, your outfit game is pretty much always on point,” I say with a shrug, and she smiles.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she says, trotting over to her dresser and pulling out some black thigh-highs, stepping into some flats and spreading her arms in a little “ta-da” gesture.

“C’mon, I’m hungry as fuck,” she says, striding past me, taking my wrist and dragging me downstairs.

 

“I can’t even believe what a cheeseball you are sometimes,” Gwen says, leaning on her hand as she looks across the table at me. “Using Chaos Theory to tell Jess that it’s fate you two are dating? That’s…so Peter Parker.”

“I really thought that was the moment she would realize how deep down the nerd rabbit hole I am and abandon ship,” I say, snagging a forkful of loaded curly fries and taking a bite. I’ve just regaled Gwen with my side of the date with Jess, and she seems to find it amusing that I seduced her with my big brain.

“Oh, c’mon, you’re the sexy, hipster kinda nerd,” Gwen says, shaking her head before taking a drink of her Pepsi. “Like…Benedict Cumberbatch in Dr. Who.”

“Brandywine Bandersnatch?” I challenge.

“Bumblebee Towelrack.”

“Dumbledore Bedtime-Snack.”

“Brunklewick Blundershorts.”

“Camelfort Scramblebutt.”

She giggles; I’ve almost got her. “Bringlepork Handlewhack.”

I go in for the kill. “Fumbledork Fancypants.”

Gwen bursts out laughing, trying to choke out another name, but she can’t, so she picks up a rumpled up napkin and chucks it at me. I take a smug drink of my own tea-lemonade combo (thank you, Arnold Palmer) and revel in my victory. Meanwhile, Gwen recovers and takes up her fork, going for the loaded fries. She looks up and pouts at me when she finds the bowl mostly empty.

“Way to eat all the fries!” she huffs, and I roll my eyes.

“You won’t even finish what’s left in there,” I say. “You always have eyes bigger than your stomach.”

“Challenge accepted!” Gwen says confidently. I shake my head, taking a few more bites of my French dip and Swiss, checking my phone to see a text from Harry.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[Yo, just woke up. Come on by my place and well meet out front and head over to dads]_

I send back a _“k”_ , looking up as I see the small plastic bowl of fries being pushed toward me, only a couple bites having been eaten. Across the table, Gwen is wearing an adorable little pout, and I just laugh, taking the last few mouthfuls.

“Knew it,” I say through a bite of fries, earning another napkin-ball to the face, and I laugh. “I did, though. You always cram down the first roast beef, two bites of fries, and then you chug your drink and can’t eat anymore.”

She looks at me in surprise, quirking an eyebrow. “What, do you study my eating habits?” she asks.

“I try to be observant in general,” I say. “I can’t help it if some things are more interesting than others.”

“Yay, I’m interesting,” Gwen says, scooting. “Okay, I’m gonna bathroom and then we’ll go?”

“Sounds good,” I say. “Harry’s ready for us.”

She stands and makes her way toward the bathroom while I gather our trays and move to dump them, standing near the door. I adjust my jacket a bit, zipping it up before I feel a buzz in my pocket. I pull out my phone and see a new text, this one from Jess.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[Just wanted to say have fun at your nerd lab! I won’t bug you because you’ll probably be going nuts at all the cool stuff, but I’ll miss you and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow! <3 ]_

I text back a heart symbol but have little time to send much else, as Gwen hurries back out and pretty much runs into me as she attempts to playfully shove me out the door.

“Aaaah, I’m being trampled,” I say, slowly staggering backward toward the door. “Halp, this girl’s tryna kill meh.”

“We’re gonna have a fun birthday outing, and you’re gonna like it!” Gwen says in a faux-angry voice, smirking at me as we head out. “C’mon, it’s time to spend the day with the other most important girl in your life.”

“Aunt May?” I ask innocently, earning me a playful swat on the shoulder.

“Peter Parker,” she says warningly.

“Oh, c’mon, Gwen,” I say, bumping against her as we walk to the bus stop. “If I didn’t have you in my life, I probably wouldn’t be able to function.”

A pleased little smile spreads on her face as she glances up at me. “Promise?”

“Promise,” I insist. “At the very least, I’d be late to school like every day.”

“Well, that would just be criminal,” she says with false astonishment. “How will you change the world with science unless you get your proper education?”

“I just don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d have to become a supervillain.”

“Ew, if you did that, I’d have to hunt you down myself and knock some sense into you,” Gwen says. I just chuckle, plunking down on a bench at the bus stop.

“I sure hope so.”

 

After a sleepy Harry meets us out front of the building that houses the Osborn penthouse, we all pile into the same car that took Jess and I on our date the previous evening, Walton skillfully navigating the Sunday traffic on the way to the towering Oscorp Building. We pass by the Baxter Building, and I stare up at it, wondering if Miss Fantastic is in, maybe planning some epic mission overseas or investigating some kind of crime ring that requires superhero intervention. Maybe Hank McCoy is visiting, as he’s prone to do from time to time.

“Pete, look!” Gwen says, tapping my arm. “That’s Johnny Storm! Look!”

I scoot over, and sure enough, the unmistakable blond hair of Johnny Storm is visible through the crowd, following behind a muscled man that looks like he should be the bouncer of a nightclub.

“That has to be the Human Torch,” I say. “Ben Grimm. He’s huge.”

“Out for a Sunday stroll, probably,” Harry says, sounding mostly uninterested. “I heard they stopped some kind of crazy guy from Europe who tried to make supervillains with powers to like counteract theirs.”

“How can you just _give_ someone powers?” I ask, and Harry shrugs.

“Magic?” he says.

“A wizard did it,” Gwen says, and I roll my eyes. The car pulls into the company garage, which is mostly deserted except for the beat-up junkers of the few janitorial workers and one or two much nicer vehicles, probably Tony Stark’s or Norman Osborn’s. We pull into a space that says “Guest Parking”, and the motor cuts off. Moments later, Walton opens the door, and Harry gestures to Gwen, who climbs out, and we slide out after her.

“Thanks for the lift, Walton,” Harry says, and the man just nods.

“Want me to wait in the car, Mr. Osborn?” he asks.

“We’ll be a while,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “Go have some fun, I’ll text you when we’re ready to go.”

“Thank you, Mr. Osborn,” Walton says, climbing back into the car. As he starts the engine, we head for the elevator in the parking garage.

“Now,” Harry says, “before we get up there, Dad wanted me to remind you that a lot of this stuff is pretty hush-hush, but he trusts us not to go blabbing about it to the nearest reporter. So, there’s that.”

“Yeah, corporate espionage isn’t really something I endorse,” Gwen says with a smirk, and I just roll my eyes. Letting a snicker, Harry pulls a card out of his pocket, holding it in front of a scanner on the control panel, which gives a muted beeping sound before the doors open with a ding.

“Let’s do this,” he says, stepping inside, and we follow. Inside, the elevator is rather large, with ornate tiled floors. One wall has a screen showing the Oscorp logo, and the wall opposite that is set with a large window, though the other side simply shows cement. Opposite the door is another set of doors, presumably leading inside the building proper. “Watch this.” He turns to the screen. “Elevator, sixty-second floor.”

“ _Sixty-second floor_ ,” the elevator repeats in a cool, male voice. “ _Navigating_.”

With a small lurch, the elevator shoots upward, and soon, the cement in the window gives way to daylight, the Manhattan skyline unfolding beneath us as we rise higher and higher.

“Woah,” Gwen says breathlessly, moving next to me to peer out. “You can almost see all of Manhattan from here.”

The elevator slows to a stop, and with another muted ding, the voice announces, “ _Sixty-second floor, Research and Development. Have a nice day_.”

We step off, and I can’t help a breathless whisper. “Holy shit….”

“Pretty much,” Gwen agrees.

The entire floor is one giant room, with a ceiling at least two stories tall. All around, support columns thick as tree trunks stretch from the floor to the ceiling, evenly spaced several meters apart to form a sort of grid. Between these columns, cubicle walls are built in a makeshift hallway that stretches out in front of us, presumably partitioning off various experiments, prototypes, and projects. As we venture further down the hall, I peek into the rooms to see devices I can only guess the functions of, but all of them look like something out of a sci-fi movie. Knowing they’re actual functioning items that have a purpose (or an intended one) just gets me geeking out already.

Further in, the cubicle walls taper off, the room opening up to a massive atrium of sorts. In the center, what look like several droids right out of a Star Wars movie hang partially finished from a series of metal racks.

“What are these?” I ask, stepping forward and leaning in, peering into the faceplate of one of the droids. For eyes, it just has two rectangular slits, and most of the rest of the face is featureless except for a small groove of a mouth that gives it a stern expression. As I look closer, I notice a small hollow in the chest piece, which looks like it holds some kind of power core. I reach forward to run my finger along the rim….

“Don’t touch that,” a voice says behind me, and I jump, turning around to see Tony freaking Stark looking down at me curiously.

Tony Stark is everything the magazines make him out to be. He’s tall, slightly lanky, and wears his smug self-confidence like a cloak. His black hair is perfectly moussed and his mustache-goatee combo precisely trimmed, but the professional look is somewhat ruined by the Guns ‘n’ Roses t-shirt he’s wearing under his lab coat.

“If you stick your finger in there, the armor activates and looks for a power source,” he says, “and it could just suck the life out of you.”

I stare at him for a moment.

“Just kidding, that won’t happen,” he goes on flippantly. “I just don’t like smudges. I’m sure you understand.”

“Pete, I’m sure you recognize Tony Stark,” Harry says, smirking at us. “Mr. Stark, this is my friend, Peter Parker.”

“Parker,” Tony says. “Photographer, brainiac, just started dating a girl on the swim team?”

“Uh, yeah?” I say.

“Good call,” he says. “Swimmers can hold their breath for a long time, comes in handy in the most unlikely of places, you…must be Gwen Stacy.” He breathlessly turns to Gwen, smiling down at her. “Enchanted. Are you the swimmer?”

“I’m _a_ swimmer,” Gwen says, smiling up at him. “Not _the_ swimmer.”

“I bet there’s a story there,” Tony says.

“Mr. Stark,” another voice says, and we all turn to see Norman Osborn walking out of another elevator. He catches sight of us and smiles. “Ah, I was told you three had arrived. Peter, Gwendolyne, it’s wonderful to see you again.”

Norman Osborn has always been something of an enigma. Even his own son doesn’t seem to know much about him beyond the public persona of a wealthy entrepreneur who built his company from nothing with the help of his friend and mentor, Dr. Curt Connors. Today, he’s synonymous with his company, which is synonymous with progress in all fields of science and research, most recently robotics and technology ever since they hired Tony Stark to head R&D in those departments. Shorter than Tony but no less imposing, Norman looks like a vision of Harry in twenty years. He keeps his curly brown hair cut short and perfectly styled, his clean-shaven face showing off his powerful jawline. Unlike Tony, he’s dressed to impress, wearing a finely-tailored suit that’s probably one of about a dozen he has back home.

“It’s great to see you, too, Mr. Osborn,” I say. “Thanks for letting me come by and see your R&D floors. It’s amazing stuff.”

“It’s the least I can do for the young man that’s helping my son succeed,” he says. “Harry’s a bright boy, he just needs someone to challenge him. I’m glad he has you to do that.”

“Right here, Dad,” Harry says dryly, and Norman gives him a wry smile.

“In any case, I’d love to stay, but there seems to be a small situation that needs my attention,” he says. “Mr. Stark, if you’d please, can you show these three a bit of what you’re working on?”

“Well, I do enjoy showing off,” Tony says, gesturing at the droid I was looking at as Norman heads back for the elevator. “Since you’ve already met the drone, we can introduce you properly. This is Rufus. He’s a member of what will eventually be the Iron Legion.”

“That sounds like a badass metal band or something,” Harry says.

“I know, right?” Tony says. “Cliché as it sounds, Rufus here is gonna be the future of combat. Immediate threat response and containment until the soldiers can show up and provide that human element war seems to need.”

“Dad says Oscorp’s on the way to becoming the number one supplier to the military, all thanks to Stark,” Harry says, gesturing to a wall where a bunch of what are probably prototypes hang. “You should show him the wings.”

“Wings?” I ask, following them, Gwen right behind me, observing silently for the moment. “Like…for actual flight?”

“Yep,” Tony nods, stopping next to the wall and gesturing up at what looks like a large backpack with a set of wings sprouting from it. “Repulsor lifts for propulsion, wings for balance and flightpath control. Expensive to make, but you only need about five of these on a battlefield to make a difference.”

“What’s this?” Gwen asks, poking what looks like a human-sized robot with an overly-detailed humanoid face. “Looks like a robot from that Will Smith movie.”

“I actually liked that one,” Tony says, moving over to stand next to her. “Not at all like the source material, but what is, these days? This is Codename: Chameleon. Once it’s finished, it’ll be able to change its size and shape to look like just about anyone you can imagine.”

I lean in and peer at the face, noticing what look like hundreds of tiny electrical diodes in the semitransparent skin. “You electrify the skin to make it tense up or slack and change shape?”

“Astute,” Tony says. “Basically, yes. It’s still in alpha, so all of the faces look like Halloween masks, but it’s showing promise.”

“Still, that’s…pretty amazing,” I say, glancing up and taking a step toward a strange machine that looks like one of those tennis-ball shooters they use at the country club, but scaled up to about four times the normal size. An enormous cable stretches from the nozzle to an opposite wall, thick as a sapling and pure white.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at it. Tony follows where I point and sighs, shaking his head.

“That is my one and only collaboration,” he says. “A chemical compound able to be spun into a strand of cable stronger than steel. It’s supposed to be the next big wave in construction, but,” as he speaks, the cable starts to dissolve, wisping away and crumbling into dust, “it doesn’t really have staying power.”

“Who are you collaborating with?” Gwen asks, jumping as the rest of the cable crumbles to the ground with a heavy _whump_ noise.

“That would be me,” a new voice says, and we turn to see an older man, probably in his forties, making his way toward us from the other elevator. He has dark, obviously graying hair and a bit of a stubble. His clothing seems to be a compromise between Tony’s and Norman’s, settling with nice Dockers and a polo shirt topped with a pristine white lab coat. Curiously, when he holds out a hand to shake as he introduces himself, it’s his left, which throws me for only a second. “Dr. Curt Connors, head of the Bioscience Division. You must be Harry’s friends.”

“Peter,” I say, reflexively beginning to stick out my right hand before switching it up.

“Forgive me,” he says as he shakes Gwen’s hand next, and as he speaks, I pick up a faint British accent, though I can’t place the exact location. “Old habits die hard, and frankly, I don’t trust this arm just yet.”

He holds up his right arm, shaking back the sleeve to reveal smooth, shiny metal fingers tipped with gel pads, a contoured palm with similar gel attachments, and polished metal all the way up to his elbow, which is a large hinge joint that connects with the flesh of his bicep with a ring.

“That is pioneering technology at its finest, Doc,” Tony says. “Stark cybernetics will pave the way to limb replacement. Give it…a month, I’ll have artificial skin grafts, nerve replacement – “

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the sales pitch,” Dr. Connors says, smiling ruefully at us. “Tony loves to reinforce how foolish he thinks my efforts at limb regrowth were.”

“You go messing around with DNA splicing, you wind up with mutant lizard-folk, and we don’t need to prove any conspiracy theorists right,” Tony says. “I was just telling them about our little pet project.”

“Ah, of course,” Dr. Connors nods. “Norman Osborn’s continuing efforts to wring every last cent he can get out of any project.” He blinks and glances over to Harry. “No offense.”

Harry just holds his hands up. “I know what my dad is,” he says.

“I always liked you,” Tony says to him, turning to us. “Well, would you like to see what brought on this super-science team up?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” Dr. Connors says. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this visit short, as we’ve had a bit of a…power issue on the sixty-fourth floor.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, his tone slightly concerned. “Is Dad alright?”

“Nothing to be concerned over,” Dr. Connors says bracingly. “It’s just a small blackout, but to be safe, he doesn’t want any non-staff in a position where they might be in danger.”

“That’s not good,” Tony says. “I told Norman we should switch to an in-house arc reactor as soon as possible. No power issues, ever.”

“You’re gonna convert Oscorp to an arc reactor?” I ask as we’re herded toward the elevator. “Is it true you’re working on a miniaturized model for use as like a battery?”

“Not working on,” Tony says, gesturing toward the Iron Legion. “Finished. Done. We’re going to implement them in the Iron Legion, the wingsuit, everything that ran on old clunky batteries is gonna be running on clean, renewable technology. Oscorp going to be _the_ name in green energy, courtesy of Stark Technologies.”

“Wow,” I say, looking around. “I just wanna like live here.”

“Come back again sometime, if you’d like,” Tony says. “I always like to show off, and it’s tough to impress the science types around here. A kid that can actually understand what I’m talking about is a godsend. Next time I’ll show you the AIs I’ve developed.”

“Actual artificial intelligence?” I ask, wondering if my eyes are as wide as it feels like they are. Tony just smirks.

“Who do you think made the elevators talk?” he asks as the doors shut on us.

“Well, that was a quick visit,” Gwen mutters as the elevator descends again. Harry pulls his phone out to text Walton. “I think we were up there for like fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry about that, Pete,” Harry says. “Some birthday present. Wonder what’s going on?” He leans against the elevator wall, and I do the same, staring out the window.

“It’s no big deal,” I say. “It’s not like anyone planned for a black—fuck.” My hand whips up to brush aside a bug, an itch shuddering down my spine before I move to scratch it. “Bug.”

“A black fuck bug?” Gwen asks, giggling. “I don’t think we’ve studied those in biology – “ She cuts off, swiping at her leg. “Wow, maybe the blackout’s because of a bug nest in the power mainframe or something.”

“You get bit, too?” I ask, rubbing at the spot. “Some kinda mosquito, I think.”

“Mine looked like a spider,” Gwen says with a nervous laugh. “If I start foaming at the mouth, you better head us to the hospital, Harry.”

“Walton’s fully prepared to break every traffic law needed to get an Osborn to the hospital as fast as possible,” Harry says as the elevator opens, revealing a pitch-black parking garage, lit only by the distant entrance and the high gaps between the cement walls and ceilings.

“Perfect,” I say, stepping out first. “Power’s out here, too.”

“Let’s just wait by the elevator,” Gwen says. “Walton will be here soon, right? He’s got headlights, and cars can’t trip over random shit left on the ground.”

I lean against the wall, trying to ignore the way the bite on my neck itches and occasionally pulses. I suppose if I’m not dead in six hours, I should be fine, right? I try to think off the top of my head if Manhattan has any indigenous spiders that are lethally poisonous, but entomology has never been my strong-suit.

Is that the right word? Entomology? Probably.

“Can you believe Tony Stark is actually building, like…functional robots?” Gwen asks me, glancing over and bumping me with her shoulder.

“With AI, even,” I add. “That blows my mind, like…a team of robots just busting into a battlefield to hold off the bad guys until a bunch of soldiers literally fly in on wings and just shoot ‘em up.”

“Yeah, anything that wants to mess with America is fucked,” Harry says. “Like…Stark is so good at this stuff that the military actually cut Stane Enterprises’ funding after they kicked him out and followed him to Oscorp. When he got here and saw that Dr. Connors was missing his arm, he literally just told him he’d make him a new one and had a prototype made in six hours. The one Connors has now is like mark seven or something.”

“What was that about DNA splicing and lizard-folk?” I ask, leaning a bit more heavily against the wall. Next to me, Gwen sinks to sit on the pavement, fixing her skirt under her butt as she does.

“Oh, Connors had this…weird-ass idea about using lizard DNA on humans to actually make them regrow limbs,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was like this pet project that Dad kept having to talk him out of because there was just too much that could go wrong, you know? When Stark heard about it, he was just like, ‘I’ll make you an arm so you don’t have to worry about it.’ And then he just started a whole artificial limb project that he’s really amped about now.”

“That’s a very Tony Stark solution,” I say. “Lose a limb? Just make a new one.”

“I know, right?” Harry says. “He’s like HOLY FUCK!” I notice him jump to the side and stamp on something, and I stand and hurry to his side as Gwen scrambles to her feet.

“What, what is it?” she asks, and Harry holds an arm out to stop us from getting closer to the squashed remains of a huge spider.

“That motherfucker just bit me!” he says. “Fuck, great, this is how I die.”

“We are not having luck with bug bites today,” I say, blinking to clear my head. The sudden movement to stand has made me aware that I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. Shit, _do_ I need to go to the hospital? “Maybe we should just get back to your place and crash, Harry.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he says. “I’m not feeling too hot, but I really just don’t wanna deal with the hospital.”

Gwen leans against me as the car pulls up, and we all pile in the back. Things get a bit foggy after that, but I’m aware of reaching Harry’s penthouse and shuffling for the elevator. Harry says something about the couch, which sounds blissfully comfortable, so I trudge in the direction of the massive sofa and plop down. As soon as my body realizes that it does _not_ have to hold itself up any more, I’m out.


	6. Chapter 6

I awaken to a noisy buzzing in my pocket and a face-full of hair. Neither of these things is particularly pleasant. Did my phone’s vibration get turned up somehow? Is that possible? I tug my arm out from whatever it’s stuck between—wait…. What is it stuck between? As that incessantly grinding buzzing continues, I realize that it’s not normal to wake up with someone else’s hair in your face. The fruity, flowery scent tells me it’s Gwen’s, but…did she start using a different scent or something? It smells nearly the same, but just…stronger, and I can almost pick out the different fruits; apples, pears, a bit of…plum or something…. It’s like the first time I put on glasses and realized that the shapeless green blobs on top of trees were actually thousands of tiny leaves.

Did I put on nose glasses?

Gwen lets a small noise in her sleep, shifting on top of me, and I realize a much more immediate concern, namely that she’s on top of me in the first place. What with her warm, solid presence directly on me, the scent of her hair, and that little noise she just made…nope, not good.

Easy, Peter. I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it –

“Nmmmm, Pete…” a breathy whisper puffs against my ear.

ONE NATION, UNDER GOD, INDIVISIBLE THIS IS NOT WORKING.

As gently as I can, I attempt to lift Gwen off of me and slide out from under her…and am very surprised to find that it’s laughably easy to do so, gently pushing her aside and onto the couch as I crawl out.

That took…little to no effort. Gwen is by no means heavy; I don’t think she’s even broken a hundred pounds yet. It’s just that I have trouble lifting my backpack with two or more textbooks, let alone the weight of a human being. It took all of Flash’s amateur Marine drill instruction efforts to cajole ten pushups out of me in PE last Friday.

Maybe it was an adrenaline rush from being in such a potentially disastrous decision?

That has to be it.

My phone buzzes again, and I reach into my pocket, wondering once again how it got so very loud as I peer at the screen.

**_From: Beloved Auntie_ **

_[Where are you? It’s almost five o’clock and your Uncle and I are worried. Please text as soon as you can.]_

I notice a few texts in a similar vein from Aunt May _and_ Uncle Ben and immediately feel a rush of guilt at having made them worry. I hastily type out a quick text and send it.

**_To: Beloved Auntie_ **

_[Sorry, Aunt May. We got back to Harry’s place, but we were wiped, so we crashed for a few hours. Sorry I forgot to text you.]_

I hear another noise from the couch and look over to see Gwen rolling onto her side, glancing over at me with a little smile. She shifts and stretches, arching her back with a little squeak before sitting up and standing.

“Jeez, we just kinda zonked out, didn’t we?” she says as she makes her way over to my side. My phone pings, and I read Aunt May’s response, Gwen peering over my shoulder at it.

**_From: Beloved Auntie_ **

_[Your uncle thought it was something like that but I still worry. You know how I am. Try to be home before eight. Remember it’s a school night.]_

“Aw, that’s just the cutest,” Gwen says softly, glancing out the window at the afternoon sun. “We should get home, though. Where’s Harry?”

“He probably ditched us to fall into his bed,” I say. We head for the winding stairs that lead up to the second floor of the penthouse, making our way down the hall and to Harry’s room. I peek in to see him tangled up in his blankets, still wearing his clothes from earlier. Judging from the soft snoring sounds, he at least didn’t die from his spider bite.

“We could wake him up and ask him to get Walton?” I suggest, but Gwen just shrugs, taking my wrist in her hands and tugging me toward the stairs.

“Let’s just take the bus,” she says, smiling at me. “Also, I’m like…really hungry, so can we raid your fridge when we get home?”

“That actually sounds amazing,” I say, suddenly aware of the gnawing hunger in my own stomach. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

The bite on my neck is still throbbing a bit.

 

That night, after some of the most delicious leftover pizza I’ve ever had (pretty sure I could identify every herb and spice in the sauce if I knew what they were called), Gwen and I spend a few hours just chilling in my room, being two lazy friends that spend time together pursuing separate activities, when she points something out.

“Pete, where are your glasses?”

Uh, on my face, where they—where are my glasses?

“How long have I not been wearing them?” I ask, feeling my face, which is free of any corrective lenses. There’s no way I could have just forgotten them; astigmatism runs in the family, so I can’t see anything anywhere.

Well, I couldn’t. Until now.

“I don’t think you had them on when we woke up at Harry’s,” Gwen says. “Can you see just fine?”

“Perfectly,” I say. “Better than when I _was_ wearing them.”

“This is…weird,” Gwen says. “We get bitten by spiders, and suddenly, like…all our senses are turned up to eleven, and…” she trails off, rubbing her wrists nervously.

It happens in an instant.

_THAWP!_

Ever get so absolutely and instantaneously terrified that alarm bells go off in your head, and fight-or-flight settles very firmly on flight? That your body just moves all on its own in the most direct route away from whatever startled you?

Imagine that times about five hundred or so.

Before I can totally process what just happened, Gwen and I are on opposite sides of the room, looking toward my bed, where some sort of white strand of…something is connecting my headboard to…Gwen’s wrist? Wait….

“Gwen…you’re hanging on my wall….”

“Yeah, no shit, so are you.”

I look down, and my heart starts hammering as I realize that I’m about a foot off the floor, hanging by my hands and feet like they’ve been glued to the wall. I tug my hand away, finding that it detaches readily, like weak Velcro or something. Next is my foot, then the other, and finally my other hand.

“Holy, shit, Pete, what’s even happening?” Gwen asks, climbing down as well and tugging at her wrist. “What is this?”

“It’s…like a spider web,” I say, hurrying over and touching the strand gingerly.

“Ew, don’t touch it, that came out of my wrist!” Gwen protests, but she leans in and examines it as well. “It’s…it’s like stuck, how do I – “ just as she’s phrasing the question, the strand falls from her wrist. “Oh, that felt weird.”

“What?” I ask.

“It was like…something in my wrist like…moved,” she says, tentatively holding her hand up, tilting it back and flexing her palm.

_THAWP!_

This time, we’re ready for it, but it doesn’t make it any less disconcerting to watch a strand of spider web shoot from Gwen’s wrist and latch to my bedroom wall.

“Oh, that is just…freaky,” she says. “Is that because of the spider? What the fuck kind of spider even was that?”

I hold up my hand, flexing my own palm, but nothing happens. “I dunno,” I say. “I can do the wall-climb thing, but I don’t think I have webs.”

“Well, your spider was different from—holy shit, Harry! He got bit, too!”

As if on cue, my phone buzzes, and I hurry over to pick it up, seeing that I’m actually getting a call from Harry. He almost never calls. I swipe to answer and lift the phone to my ear.

“Harry?”

“ _So, you guys are getting the wall-crawl thing, too, right_?” he asks, his voice strangely blasé for such a monumental event. “ _Because I’m calling you from literally my ceiling_.”

“Gwen has webs,” I say. “Do you have webs?”

“Does he have it, too?” Gwen asks, and I nod vigorously at her. “Oh my fucks.”

“ _Yeah, no webs_ ,” Harry says. “ _But dude, I’ve got muscle aches like I just did the fitness tests in PE, and my fingertips are like…tingling_.”

“We think it was the spiders,” I say, pacing. “What was your dad doing with spiders?”

“ _He talked about some kind of experiment with spider webs that could soak up radiation_ ,” Harry says. “ _I mean, ‘nuclear spiders equals spider powers’ isn’t much of a stretch when space gamma rays make a guy that can set himself on fire_.”

“Fair point,” I say, sighing and flumping onto my bed. “Okay, so – “

_THAWP!_

“Gwen!” I sit up and look over to see her looking at the web that just coated my closet door with a sheepish panicked look.

“Sorry!” she squeaks, shaking her head. “It’s really sensitive!”

“ _The fuck are you two doing over there_?” Harry asks, sounding amused.

“Gwen’s web-incontinent,” I sigh with a shake of my head. “So, I think we should just…get some sleep tonight, on the off-chance that this isn’t some delusional dream from the spider bite and you’re all figments of my imagination.”

“ _Ditto_ ,” Harry says.

“Likewise,” Gwen chimes in.

“ _Alright, I’m out_ ,” Harry says. “ _If this is a dream, I’m gonna do some sick wall-crawling parkour before I wake up_.”

“Don’t die,” I say. “Bye.”

“ _Later_ ,” Harry says, hanging up. I turn to Gwen, who gives me another sheepish little grin.

“I webbed all over your room,” she says in a meek voice.

“You’re fourteen, you should have that under control by now,” I say, falling back onto my bed. “Ugh, are you spending the night?”

“Well, if I go home, we’ll just be texting about this, so why not just have the convo in person and save data?” she says, also flopping down.

“Sometimes I forget how brilliant you are, then you say something like that and remind me,” I deadpan, rolling onto my back.

“I’m pretty great,” she says, kicking her shoes off with twin thuds. “I _am_ the only one who makes webs.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “What is going on with us?”

“Let’s figure that out tomorrow, when we can think.”

“Sounds good.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Alright, we’re rolling.”

“Seriously, ‘we’re rolling’? Cliché much?” Gwen’s voice is muffled behind her mask, the same as the rest of us.

“Don’t hate, I’ve always wanted to say that,” Harry says, turning to me with an excited hop. “C’mon, Pete, you got this.”

“Okay, but what if I don’t?” I ask as I look down from the roof of the building that we picked out for this test.

I thought would seem shorter once we were at the top.

It really doesn’t.

“C’mon, you got this!” Harry repeats, egging me on. I feel a pair of hands on my wrist, Gwen looking up at me like the most adorable bank robber ever in her ski-mask.

“Relax,” she says. “If you fall short, I’ll jump after you and web you.”

“You’ll web all over me?” I ask jokingly.

“Oh, gosh, how embarrassing,” she says with mock shyness, shoving me toward the jumping point. “Running start, hop, you’ll be on the other side.”

Yeah, that’s easy to say. You’re not jumping across Broadway. Well, not yet. I take a deep breath, shaking my arms and shifting my neck to loosen up a bit. “Hah! Alright, alright.” I glance at the camera. “I’m Spider-Man, and I’m gonna jump that shit!”

“Do the Mad Max!” Harry says eagerly.

“Witness me!” I shout, taking off and running at the edge of the building. As wind rushes at my face, my surroundings zipping by, two things register.

First: I’ve never run this fast before. I’ve barely ever done more than a light jog, but now I’m sure I could outpace the track team without breaking a sweat.

Second: Despite how fast I’m going, as the adrenaline rushes through my system, everything seems to be going by with perfect clarity. It’s not slow motion as much as my eyes and brain are keeping up with how fast I’m going.

I reach the edge and hop up onto the low stone wall around the roof of the building, falling forward and springing outward with all of the newfound strength my legs can muster.

And then I’m flying.

Broadway whizzes by below me, the cars so small from this height that they look like toys. Rather than the terror I was feeling moments ago, that I expected to continue experiencing being this high in the air, I feel…ecstatic. I’m aware of a jubilant yell before I realize that it’s coming from me. The building across the street rushes toward me, and I clear the edge, my feet contacting the roof and skidding as I crouch and use my grippy hands to pull myself to a halt.

Still shaking a bit, I stand and pump my fists in the air triumphantly. “Fuck yeah!”

Harry yells something, but I can’t hear it from all the way over here with the background noise of New York, which is extra-loud thanks to my slightly enhanced hearing. I can see him handing the camera to Gwen and dashing to the other end of the building. His turn, it seems.

As I watch, he blazes toward the jumping point, and though it’s hard to compare, I think he might be a bit slower than me, which makes sense for reasons apparent enough when he sails across the gap and lands in a rolling heap a few yards short of where I landed. He stands and yanks his mask off, grinning manically at me.

“Yes! That was so sick!” he yells. “That was like some hardcore parkour shit!”

Even though I’ve spent the whole day acclimating to it, the sight of Harry is still a bit jarring compared to yesterday. Since his bite, he’s put on at least twenty pounds of pure muscle and grown about four inches. It’s like someone selected the “puberty” chapter and pressed fast-forward. He doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by his “mad gains”, as he calls it. In fact, he’s loving every second of it.

We both turn back and watch Gwen, who I can tell is psyching herself up. There’s no way her pride will let her back out after watching us go for it, and she’s also as eager to test out these new abilities as much as us. When she takes off, I swear, even my enhanced vision loses track of her. In seconds, she’s airborne and zooming over us with a hysterical shriek, almost clearing the other building before she lands about a yard short of the other edge.

“Holy shit,” she gasps, running to us and handing Harry the camera. She pulls off her mask, revealing a wide-eyed look and a disbelieving smile. “Holy shit, I just jumped like…a million feet.”

“Okay, so Gwen can jump the farthest,” Harry observes matter-of-factly, stopping the recording.

“This is so fucking wild!” Gwen says, clenching her hands into fists in front of her.

_THAWP-THAWP!_

I feel twin impacts on my chest, and Gwen yelps before I’m abruptly tugged forward while Harry bursts out laughing.

“That will never not be hilarious,” he says through his chuckles.

“Oh my gosh, Pete, I’m sorry!” Gwen says, though she’s laughing as well as I’m pulled toward her. “This stuff is…like seriously unbreakable!”

“Can’t you cut it or something?” I ask, and she kinda wiggles her wrists around, firing off a couple more webs at the ground before detaching them. I manage to pull the strand from my shirt with a concentrated effort, shaking my head at Gwen, who gives me a cutely sheepish smile as she flexes her wrists.

“I can like…wiggle my wrist just right and get it to detach, but I’m still working on it,” she says. “I’ve been afraid to raise my hand in class all day today!”

“That must be so awful for the girl that has the answer to like every question before the teacher’s finished asking,” Harry says, and Gwen just huffs.

“It is!” she insists. “Flash Thompson’s been just yelling out his best guesses, and he’s a sweet guy, but he is…just….”

“A thickhead?” I suggest, and Gwen nods.

“That’s a good one.”

“Okay, so what now?” Harry asks, glancing between us. “Parkour race to my place?”

“I would like to see, like…what all we can do with this,” Gwen says with a look up at me. “C’mon, race?”

“Alright, fuck it,” I say, making sure my mask is on correctly, shifting from foot to foot as I find Oscorp Tower on the skyline. The notion that I can actually get there, that all it will take is a calculated series of jumps, climbing walls, and general running that I’m now fully capable of, is exciting. It’s like loading up Skyrim for the first time and knowing I can _climb_ that mountain, but in real-life, which is about a million times more exhilarating.

“On three,” Gwen says, her voice quivering with anticipation. “One…two….”

“ _THREE!_ ”

We’re off, and holy shit, I can run fast now. My breath is the only thing I can hear mingling with the rushing of the wind blowing past my face from the sheer force of my speed. The edge of the nearest building rushes toward me, and I hop it, surging forward. I try to track Gwen and Harry, but I very quickly lose them. It doesn’t matter, though; this isn’t about winning. This is about pushing myself, finding out my new limits. I was always afraid to test myself before for fear of disappointing myself or worse, disappointing others. It was so much easier to never try, to never fail simply because I never gave myself the chance.

Now, I can succeed. I can go beyond success; I can be awesome. I can jump twenty-foot gaps like I’m hopping a puddle on the sidewalk. I can climb straight up a sheer wall like one of those rock-climbing things at the fancier gyms.

Buildings fly beneath me as I dash across the rooftops, hopping obstacles like it’s second nature, crawling along walls like that girl from The Ring on fast-forward and leaping to the next building. Somewhere out there, I want to imagine the best parkour athlete in the world is weeping for reasons he doesn’t even know. I’m not Peter Parker, the nerd. I’m not even Peter Parkour, master free-runner. He’s behind a mask, hidden away so the world only sees Spider-Man.

Alright, it lacks originality, but it was something I came up with spur-of-the-moment and called dibs on. Sue me.

Oscorp Tower draws closer, and I know that somewhere off in a general rightward direction is our destination. Harry’s somewhere off to my right, hopping in and out of view, and Gwen is gone, swinging between buildings. I’m fairly sure she’s won this race, being faster and having the advantage of her webs. Still, I don’t care about winning. I can feel the edges of exhaustion creeping up on me, my muscles starting to protest to such prolonged use. In the back of my head, I hear Flash Thompson for some reason, shout at me.

_“C’mon, Marine! Every time you reach your limit, you just push it further! There’s always another wall to punch through!”_

Damn your cheesy but no-less-inspirational words of encouragement, Flash!

I’m not sure how long it takes, but I’ve covered miles, and before long, I’m crawling tiredly up the side of the Osborn penthouse, slumping onto a little ledge. As I tug my mask of, glad for the cool rush of air on my face, I feel a strange sense of déjà vu as Gwen’s smiling face appears overhead.

“Took you long enough,” she teases, sitting next to my head. “Where’s the – “

I don’t get to find out what Harry is, because a loud _thud_ below us indicates that he’s violently arrived on the side of the building. Seconds later, he’s crawling into view, settling next to me and also looking out of breath.

“Last place in a race that was my idea,” he says. “Will my shame never end?”

“Considering you’re basically a boulder now, I’m proud you managed to make it here,” Gwen points out with a small smile. She settles onto my other side, and we survey the city sprawling out below us. A cool breeze blows by, unfettered by the buildings like it would be below, and my hair whips around a bit. I can hear the whole city bustling below us, a constant rush of activity, the distant clatter of a train, probably carrying commuters on the way home from work. The sun is sinking lower, but it’s still firmly afternoon, not quite evening yet.

“It’s beautiful,” Gwen says. I reach into my pocket and take out my phone, swiping for the camera. If I frame Oscorp tower so the sun is just sort of to the left, there….

_Digital-click!_

“Good shot,” I say to myself. Gwen presses up against my shoulder to peer down at the screen, nodding.

“Oh, I like that one,” she says.

“I can still barely believe all this,” Harry says, shaking his head. “We’re like…spider people. We should make some parkour videos and stick ‘em on YouTube, show off. But also think of like codenames or something. So Dad doesn’t find out what happened and try to stick us in the lab.”

“Well, Peter’s Spider-Man,” Gwen says with a smirk. “Didn’t you hear him?”

“I thought of it in like half a second,” I say defensively. “Gimme a break.”

“I wanna be…the Brown Recluse,” Harry says.

“That’s racist,” I say, and he shoves me with a laugh. “Besides, brown’s not a good color to associate with, because poop jokes.”

“Fair enough,” he says, shrugging.

“How about…Kid Arachnid?” Gwen suggests.

“Look at these mad gains and tell me I should call myself Kid anything,” Harry says.

“Please stop calling your muscles ‘mad gains’,” Gwen sighs. “You sound like some kind of gym-bro.”

“What about…the Tarantula?” I say, glancing up at him. “You’re big and…Harry.”

“I will push you off this building,” Harry says flatly. “Still, Tarantula’s good. Spider-Man, the Tarantula, and….”

“The Black Widow,” Gwen says, wiggling her fingers super spooky-like. “The Spider-Trio.”

“Nah, that’s lame,” Harry says. “Spider-Fam.”

“Spider-Pals?” I suggest.

“The Spider-Friends!” Gwen says.

“We’ll think of a name later,” I say, close out of the camera app and tap to check my texts.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[hey spacecase did you get your head out of the clouds yet?]_

Right. I was completely out of it today trying to wrap my head around this spider business. Jess noticed, of course, being an attentive girlfriend and generally shrewd about things.

**_To: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[Still floating around a little. It’s a lovely view.]_

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[You’re a dork <3 I’ve got a newspaper thing to work on, but I’ll message you on FB later.]_

**_To: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[Looking forward to it. <3 ]_

“Aw, with a little heart and everything,” Gwen says, and I catch her looking at the screen with a small smile.

“Peeping Gwen,” I say accusingly, tucking my phone back in my pocket.

“Hey, I’m the girl friend,” Gwen says. “The rare female input so you don’t text anything that gets you in trouble.”

“I’m so lucky to have you looking out for me,” I say wryly, and she gives me an impish little smile. We both turn to watch Oscorp Tower glinting in the afternoon sun.

“Dad asked me this morning,” Harry says after a brief silence, “if we saw any spiders on the way out yesterday.”

“Yeah?” Gwen asks. “What did you tell him?”

“I lied out my ass, of course,” he says. “Told him we didn’t see anything. The power was out in the garage, the end.”

“What’s the story with those spiders, anyway?” I ask, leaning back and glancing over at him. “There’s obviously something freaky going on with them if they gave us superpowers.”

“Yeah, Dr. Connors told me they were testing to see if they could breed spiders with webs that could absorb radiation or something,” he says. “These things were getting irradiated like constantly. Somehow, they got out, and Dad’s probably pissing himself because he needs to get them back before they bite anyone else or breed.”

“I’m sure Stark will come up with something,” I say. “You’d just need to rig a Geiger counter, since they’re probably leaving a glowing radiation trail. How many spiders were there?”

“Twelve,” Harry says.

“Shit,” Gwen mutters, shaking her head. “Well, eleven now. You stomped that one.”

“Still, finding eleven spiders the size of a penny in Manhattan isn’t gonna be easy,” I say. “Do you think someone set him up, released them on purpose?”

“Could be,” Harry shrugs.

We’re all silent for a moment before Gwen voices exactly what’s going through my head.

“High school is even weirder than I thought it would be.”

 

Later in the evening, between Facebook messages with Jess, I’m doing a bit of research online. Oscorp industries isn’t very forthcoming with information about a lot of their stuff, but they’re very eager to tell everyone about how they’re planning to revolutionize the construction industry with this super-cable they’re designing after spider webs. I get my phone out and type up a quick text message.

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[Hey. How hard would it be to get a hold of some of that web stuff from your dad’s work?]_

I bet I could rig up a wrist-mounted thing to shoot a small web like Gwen’s. If a tree-trunk-thick strand can hold up a building, a wire-thick one should be able to hold up a human being, and our altered muscles can handle the strain of swinging like Gwen was, no problem. It would certainly make getting around the sprawling city much easier, especially in the tightly-packed high-rise buildings of Manhattan.

Plus, I watched Gwen swing around on the way home, and it looks like a whole lot of fun.

My phone buzzes, and I check it out.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[I dunno m8 I can ask Stark about it but hes smart. He can connect the dots if we start swinging around on webs that look like his.]_

Sometimes Harry’s more astute than I give him credit for.

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[tru. But also, for all he knows, we all just have natural webbing. These shooter things will be pretty low-profile]_

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[I guess. Either way gwens going around swinging all over. I think dad sends out sample kits to construction companies. Maybe we can get some shipped to your place]_

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[Yeah, let’s do that.]_

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[kkcool. Alright im trying to nail out the last paragraph on this essay for Chem so cya]_

**_To: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[l8r]_

I’m just setting my phone down when I hear a tap on my window, jumping and turning to see Gwen’s smiling face hanging upside-down, her hair tied back in a ponytail. I hurriedly make my way over and open it up.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” she says quietly as she crawls into my room.

“Seriously?” I ask flatly.

“Hey, it was either that or ‘wherefore art thou Romeo?’ and those two died like idiots,” she says.

“Plus that question isn’t really appropriate, since she was asking _why_ his name is Romeo and not some other name that her family won’t hate,” I say, plopping down on my bed. “That leads into the whole ‘rose by any other name’ thing.”

“William Shakes-Peter over here,” Gwen says, smiling as she moves over to perch in a crouch on my computer chair, which spins precariously, but she maintains perfect balance. “Anyway, I just wanted to see if it would be as easy as I thought to sneak into your room with our new mad skills.”

“Was it?” I ask.

“Except for the part where you had to let me in,” she says, smirking at me.

“Well, I’ll have to start leaving my window unlocked for your breaking and entering convenience,” I quip, and she sticks her tongue out, looking back over at my screen.

“Oh, chit-chatting with your love?” she says, and I feel my face heat up. “’By the way, did you start wearing contacts?’ ‘Yeah, I just got them.’ Oh, winkie face. ‘I like it. Cute baby-blues.’ You do have adorable eyes, though. Glad you don’t need glasses anymore.”

“Oh…well, thanks,” I say, looking up at her to see her smiling warmly at me.

“Jeez, Jess is lucky she got you when she did,” she says. “That bite gave you a bit of that wiry muscle, like a sprinter, you know? With no glasses, those eyes, and your general adorkability, you’ll be fighting off girls at school.”

“Oh, shut up,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“I’m serious,” Gwen insists. “Jess is lucky.” A small ping sounds behind her, and she turns. “And still messaging you.”

She hops from the seat, and I take her place.

**_Jessica Cambell_ **

_What are you up to?_

“Oh, do _not_ tell her that I’m here, that’s for sure,” she says. “Girlfriends are always jealous of the female best friend. Doesn’t matter what you say, they just _are_.”

“You two always seem to get along, though,” I say. “I mean…you get a little extra sassy when she’s around, but that’s about it.”

“Oh, Peter,” she says. “Sweet, innocent Peter. You know how you’re friends with Harry but you’re friends with Flash in a different way, and that asshole Carl King is always picking on you and being a douche?”

“Um…yeah?” I say, not quite following.

“It’s possible for a girl to have all three of those relationships simultaneously with one other girl,” she says. “ _Especially_ when a guy they both like is involved.”

Wait, “both”? Gwen’s eyes briefly blink rapidly, and her cheeks tinge pink before she turns away. I deliberately ignore that little slip-up.

I just don’t even want to deal with those implications right now.

“So, um…just tell her I’m not here,” she finishes. “Or better yet, don’t say anything at all, just….”

“I think a simple ‘not much’ will work here,” I say, chuckling. “No need to overthink it.”

“Peter Parker _not_ overthinking something?” Gwen says, gaining her old swagger back. “And is that a flying pig out there I see?”

“Wow, dated jokes much?” I ask. “Get some material from this decade, Stacy.”

“I thought you loved everything vintage,” Gwen says, sticking her tongue out. “I’m dusting off the classic jokes for my hipster bestie.”

“There’s a difference between vintage and just old,” I say. “A true hipster knows that.”

“Ah, foul!” Gwen says, pointing accusingly at me. “A true hipster never refers to himself as a hipster. You lose ten hipster points.”

She’s got me there. “You win this round, Widow. But Spider-Man will not be defeated.”

“Says the boy that has to make his own web shooter things,” she says, wiggling her wrists.

_THAWP-THAWP!_

“Son of a bitch!”


	8. Chapter 8

As I step off the bus the next day, Gwen bumping me with her shoulder before heading off to meet Harry, I glance around for that familiar head of ginger hair.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks softly behind me, and pale, freckled arms gently seize me by the waist.

“Yes, I was wondering if you’ve seen my girlfriend,” I say. “Reddish hair, freckles, kind of just generally adorable?”

“I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone like that recently,” a whisper ghosts over my neck.

“You should probably look in a mirror sometime, then,” I say, turning around to see Jess smirking.

“Peter Parker, if you were any smoother, every shirt you put on would just turn into silk,” she says, then lets a surprised yelp as I pick her up and spin her around, setting her back down. “Peter!”

“I can’t help it if you bring out the schmaltzy poet in me,” I say.

“Wow, someone’s been working out,” she says, still sounding a little shocked. “Um…so, football team is drilling…um, doing drills. Picture time?”

“Sounds fun,” I say, taking her hand. She steps closer and wraps her arms around mine, humming as we walk along.

“Something very different about you,” she observes as we walk. “You must have had a pretty crazy birthday.”

“Only slightly,” I admit, shrugging. “I mean, like I said, maybe having an amazing girlfriend is just giving me a confidence boost?”

“I think it’s something more,” Jess says playfully. “I bet you – “

Head-tingles! It’s like that shiver I get in my spine when Jess whispers in my ear, but times about a billion with undertones of an all-consuming need to _get out of the way_. Instinctively, I grab Jess and spin her, pulling her back as a football whizzes by our heads.

“What the—Pete, what…?”

My thoughts exactly. I glance in the direction the ball came from to see Carl King glaring disbelievingly at me while his friends do that jock thing where they’ve just seen something unbelievable and go “Oooooooh!”

You know the sound I’m talking about.

“No one wants your balls, Carl, so fuck off!” I yell, taking Jess’s hand and leading her away. She follows bemusedly as Carl’s friends razz him behind us.

“He threw that at us, but we weren’t looking,” she says.

“Basically,” I say.

“But you pulled me out of the way and dodged it,” she continues.

“Pretty much.”

“How – “

“Really good peripheral vision,” I say. “My glasses rims don’t block the view anymore.”

“Bull. Shit.”

I chuckle as we reach the football field. “Jess…there’s a lot of stuff going on right now that I’m still kinda figuring out myself. I’m not…ready to tell anyone else. Not yet.”

She sighs. “Alright, fair enough,” she pouts. “But when you sort through it all, you’ll let me know, right?”

“You’ll be the first,” I say, climbing the stands. I spot Flash, who catches my eye right as I aim my camera.

“Parker!” he yells with a grin, pulling a flex when I take the picture.

“Camera loves you, Flash!” I yell back, and he strikes another pose before the coach tells him to get back to his warmups.

“Oh, I want a copy of that picture,” a voice says to my left, and I turn to see Mary Jane sitting there, grinning at me. “Flash Thompson is just so…yum….”

“Isn’t he dating Liz Allan?” I ask, glancing at Jess, who nods, pointing across the field to where Liz is just barely recognizable in the other set of stands.

“Yeah, there she is, even,” Jess says.

“Well, just because he’s off the market doesn’t mean I can’t admire the view,” Mary Jane says with a shrug. “And what a view it is.”

“Eh, he’s a little too bulky for me,” Jess says, reaching over to rub a hand over my newly-developed pecs. “I prefer the lean muscle.”

"Oh, get a room," Mary Jane says with a smirk. We lapse into comfortable silence, watching the practice. I snap a few pictures, but the football coach is much more focused on practice rather than photo-ops. Before long, they're packing it in, and the three of us climb down the stands.

"So, you two are an item now?" Mary Jane asks as we head toward the school. Jess nods, squeezing my arm possessively.

"Happily so," she says loftily, prompting Mary Jane to giggle a bit.

"Relax, Jess," she says. "I'm not a man-stealer, whatever the rumors may say. Even though there is something different about you, Pete. If you were single..."

"Uh...you should talk to Harry Osborn," I blurt quickly. "He's different, too. He's started working out, actually."

"Harry?" she asks, looking thoughtful. "Huh..."

When we enter the building, Jess takes my hand, dragging me over to a corner, leaving Mary Jane pondering. Giggling softly, she plants a kiss on my lips, her hands tickling teasingly at my stomach.

"See you at lunch?" she asks.

"Of course," I say. She smiles and kisses me again, her shoulders hunching as she steps back with a pout.

"Miss you already," she says softly, turning and hurrying away as the bell rings. I look around and spot Harry and Gwen, Harry looking equal parts exasperated and amused, Gwen just rolling her eyes.

"Do you need a moment?" she asks. "Or can we get going?"

"I think he already had his moment," Harry says, chuckling. "Didn't you see?"

"Well, I'm ready to close this discussion and get to class," I say. "Shall we?"

 

I remember something Uncle Ben once told me about fights, when I was just kid and it could still be reasonably assumed that I would grow up into anything at all, including a troublemaker.

Funny how children are mostly the same shape but grow into very different teens and adults.

Sidetracking.

In any case, Uncle Ben told me that there’s always a point of no return, when a civil conversation can still remain civil, but once the first punch is thrown, you’re pretty much committed, barring some fast-talking or third-party intervention.

“You can never take back a punch,” he said, “and forgiveness is a hard thing to ask for when you know you don’t deserve it. Remember that, Pete.”

He ended a lot of his little anecdotes with “remember that”, like he wanted me to write a book of them.

What is this all leading up to? Well, someone probably should have told Carl King that little tidbit of wisdom, because on the way to Life Skills, what I’m quickly coming to refer to as my spider-sense flares up again, and my body reflexively contorts to duck under a fist that looks almost like it’s moving in slow motion. Spinning away, I connect with a locker, watching as a confused looking Carl stares at the spot I was just occupying.

“Get the fuck back here, Parker!” he says, advancing on me again and cocking back another punch, but once again, it’s like he’s moving in bullet time, because I smoothly duck under it and move behind him, hearing a clank and a grunt as he no-doubt punches the locker.

“Uh, no, I don’t think I will,” I say, lunging forward into a hop and running up the lockers to his right, feeling myself leap into a backflip over the heads of two of his goons that lunged for me. They run instead into Carl as I smoothly land on my feet to a chorus of cheers from the students that have gathered to watch. “Is this about the comment about no one wanting your balls? Because I know the truth hurts, but someone had to tell you.”

With an inarticulate yell of rage, Carl leaps at me, and okay, credit where it’s due, he’s fairly fast. I think I remember hearing that he’s on the boxing team or something.

But I’m just way faster.

He throws out a series of jabs, left, left, right, feint, right, left, but I dodge every one without even thinking about it, stepping around him in a small spin and ducking a wild swing.

“Hold still!” he yells, and I have to wonder if, in the history of fights, anyone has ever listened to such a command from the other combatant.

“Charles King!” a voice yells, and Carl freezes, looking up in shock as the principal walks up. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“He started it!” Carl insists, pointing at me, Peter Parker, school paper photographer, nerd, and all around quiet upstanding student.

“Do you take me for a fool, Mr. King?” Principal Davis says. “I saw you throwing the only punches and Mr. Parker simply trying not to get hit. From the way he moves, I can tell you he could have done a lot of damage to you. Mr. Parker, have you considered joining the wrestling team?”

“I’m not really the competition type, Mr. Davis,” I say, shrugging, and the principal gives me a wry smile, shaking his head and glancing around at the crowd.

“Everyone get to your classes!” he says, and the students disperse. He watches them for a moment before turning his attention back to Carl and me. “You two will have to come to the office. I merely need your side of the story, Mr. Parker. As for Mr. King, we can discuss your punishment for attacking a fellow student.”

I’ve never read his work, but I’m sure Sun Tzu would be proud.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day, I’m a minor school celebrity, and the wrestling team, karate club, and (funnily enough) the gymnastics team all ask me multiple times if I would be interested in joining them, all of which I politely decline. Uncle Ben even praises me for handling the situation so well when I tell him I never even threw a single punch.

Wednesday, people are still talking about it, but with the first football game of the season coming up, and word of a pep rally on Friday, my escapades quickly take a backseat to the hype train, which I’m totally okay with.

Thursday dawns cold and slightly rainy, and it takes Gwen bodily pulling me from my bed to get me to actually leave the warmth of my sheets, dragging them with me to the bathroom. I emerge a new man, walking back across the hall to my room to see Gwen sitting on my bed with a package in her lap.

“I think someone’s super-secret spider project just arrived,” she says in a singsong voice, holding out the box, which I take and quickly rip open. Inside, beneath stacks of legal disclaimers and patents, I find several small canisters of the web formula and two demo shooters, which look like miniature versions of the large device at Oscorp. Perfect. If they’re for any kind of demonstrative purposes, they should be able to hold someone as heavy as Harry with his new bodybuilder physique.

“Damn it, now I just wanna skip school and work on this,” I say, but Gwen is already tugging me to my feet, tucking the box under my desk where Aunt May won’t happen upon it during her hourly cleaning frenzy.

“Peter Parker does not skip school,” she says. “Suffer through one more day, then I’ll come over tonight and help you work on them, hm?”

“Alright, but only if I get to call you Igor while we work,” I say.

“If you expect me to shuffle around calling you ‘Master’, I will drop you.”

School is unbearable that day, and I spend nearly every free moment scrawling out possible designs for our new web-shooters. Harry doesn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic about it, mostly because he prefers going full parkour and running along buildings, jumping around like “that guy from Assassin’s Creed” as he puts it.

Never really cared for those games.

In second period, while Harry and I are watching old Mrs. Jenkins struggling with the DVD player to watch some documentary about Adolf Hitler, Mr. Wyler comes running in.

“Maggie, channel seven,” he says hurriedly, tapping a few buttons on the TV. Mrs. Jenkins just steps back and watches as the screen switches over to channel seven. The words Emergency Report are imposed boldly at the top of the screen, which shows what looks like a standoff between police and….

“Holy balls,” Harry breathes out softly, both of us joining the rest of the class in scrambling to get a closer look.

On the screen, what looks like some kind of deformed cross between a man and a spider is tossing a car to the side before running at the cops, and the tinny pop of gunshots sounds while the camera shakily runs out of the way.

“ _If you’re just joining us, we’re showing live footage from a police standoff in Harlem, just west of Jackie Robinson Park_ ,” the female reporter says. “ _The unknown assailant appears to be either wearing a very elaborate costume or has recently suffered some sort of…horrific mutation. Some of this footage might be disturbing to younger viewers, so watch at your own discretion. Citizens are advised to stay in your homes unless otherwise instructed by police officers and to avoid Harlem if you’re traveling_.”

“No way,” I say, looking at Harry, who’s wide-eyed as he looks back. No doubt we’re thinking the same thing.

Is that going to be us?

On the screen, the spider makes a shrieking lunge at the police officers, but a ball of flame hurtles toward the ground next to it, causing it to recoil away. A much larger flame lands shortly after, coalescing into the bulky shape of Ben Grimm, the Human Torch. He says something to the police officers, who fall back, and turns to the spider…man. Damn it, do I need to change my name?

“ _There’s Ben Grimm, alias the Human Torch_ ,” the reporter says. “ _We’re receiving word the police are planning to corral the spider creature and…there, they’ve just tranquilized it_.”

The man-spider staggers, shrieking again and starting to lunge, but the Human Torch holds out a ball of flame, which causes it to recoil again before slumping to its knees and falling to the ground. The newsfeed cuts back to the anchors at the studio, the man folding his hands in front of him.

“ _As you can see, the situation has been contained, but citizens of New York are left with a lot of questions, the most prominent one being where the spider-man came from_ ,” he says, “ _and whether there will be more. With the advent of the Terrific Trio and the costumed vigilante calling himself the Daredevil, the city has no shortage of colorful characters, but from the look of things, this is only the beginning of a new era of superheroes. Channel Seven news will continue to keep you up to date on the situation. Now back to your regularly sched –_ “

Mrs. Jenkins switches the television off, sighing and shaking her head. “Thank you, Kevin, now my class is going to be chattering on about spiders when they should be paying attention to the dangers of charismatic megalomaniacs,” she says. “Everyone back in your seats!”

“Dad’s gonna be pissed,” Harry says as we move to sit back down.

“Pissed?” I say. “He’s probably gonna be terrified. There are at least eleven of those spiders, and the media will be able to connect the dots with the whole spider-web construction project of his.”

“Shit, didn’t think of that,” Harry says. “Plus, he’s talked about the radiation webs with his investors.”

“He has to have some kind of contingency in place,” I say. “We’re talking about Norman Osborn and Tony Stark. Between the two of them, there’s probably like forty backup plans.”

Hopefully.

 

“This is a disaster,” Norman said, sighing as he watched the report, a recap of yet another incident involving a mutated spider-person, this time terrorizing a park full of children. How many more would show up? With at least eleven of his irradiated spiders at large and spreading this...unnaturalness among the citizens of New York, the possibilities were uncomfortably close to the hundreds.

“Tony, I have to do something,” he said. “This is my responsibility. I should be able to do something besides stand here and fret. I can offer aid and buy silence as much as I want, but what sort of person am I if all I do is sit here and react when I could be out there putting a stop to – “

“What's your favorite color?” Stark asked matter-of-factly, like he was continuing a completely different conversation. Knowing the eccentric inventor, he might be, if only a conversation he'd been having in his own head.

“I’m not sure that that's entirely relevant – “

“Norman, I’m many things, but have I ever been a time-waster?” Stark asked, a knowing look on his face. “Favorite color? I bet it's…blue. Nope…nope, teal.”

“Green, in fact,” Norman said.

“Green as the money you're swimming in,” Tony said, tapping away at his touch-screen. “Makes perfect sense. With a nice silver accent, and maybe…oh, this is going to be...fantastic. Check back in about fourteen to sixteen hours, depending on how your WiFi holds up. I might just have a little surprise for you.”


	10. Chapter 10

“That’s so crazy, though,” Gwen says that night as she sits on my bed, watching me slip on one of the wristbands I’ve developed. “I mean, we obviously didn’t turn into mutated spider-freaks, so…was that guy a special case? Or are we?”

“I don’t know, but if there are so many spiders out there, I don’t think that’s the last one we’ll see, at all,” I say, aiming and curling my two middle fingers in to press the little wireless palm button I rigged up.

_THWIP!_

“Ah! It worked!” Gwen cheers, scooting over and hugging me. “Pete, that’s awesome!”

“Holy crap, I did it,” I say, staring at the point where my web is connected to the wall. I tug at it, and I’m rewarded by small creaking sound from the wall before I decide I’d rather not explain to Uncle Ben how I manage to peel away two layers of drywall. I press down hard, and I’m rewarded by a miniscule _tick_ sound as the web detaches. I turn and raise the other one, giving it a small squeeze.

_THWIP! THWIP! Tick._

Two webs and a detachment. Just like it’s supposed to.

“The pressure sensor works just fine,” I say, turning to Gwen, who’s watching with a smile.

“Pressure sensor?” she asks.

“Yeah, I put in a sensor so I have to really press it to get a web,” I explain. “That way I don’t web all over the place like a certain someone.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she says, giggling. “So, if you press it even harder, it detaches?”

“Yeah, that way I can shoot multiple webs at something if I need to be really attached to it for some reason,” I say. “It reads a certain poundage of pressure and shoots or cuts.”

“And you just…programmed that,” she says, sounding amused. “On like a little microchip?”

“Well, yeah, I used a couple cheapo keyless car entry kits Harry bought for me,” I explain. “I modified the key fobs to interact with the shooters with an RFID chip. Instead of unlocking or locking the doors, it shoots or cuts the web. And I rigged up these gloves with the triggers.” I hold up my hands, showing her the gloves.

“And you won’t have to worry about the signals getting crossed and accidentally shooting your right web shooter with the left hand?” Gwen asks.

“No, I made sure they sync up only with each other,” I say. “There’s like a one in two million chance I’ll accidentally set off someone’s car alarm, but…you know, worth.”

Gwen just giggles, kneeling to examine the web. “It looks different from my web,” she says, holding her hand out.

_THAWP!_

My poor room is going to be covered in all kinds of webs.

“See,” Gwen says, holding up both strands. “Yours is clear and like…plasticky-looking. Mine’s like silk.”

“Well, yours is like natural spider-silk,” I say, leaning over her shoulder to examine it. “Mine’s a very precise mix of chemicals to simulate a spider web. It’ll also have the same problem Stark’s does, so it’ll dissolve after a few…hours….”

I trail off because Gwen is looking at me, and she is…very close. At some point while I was talking, she turned around, and there’s that amazing fruity flowery smell of her shampoo again. Why does that smell so good lately? I know my sense of smell is enhanced, but even accounting for that, it’s just some bottled scent from Garnier Fructis she buys from the Walmart on 88th Street.

Our noses touch, and I jump back, Gwen letting a tiny gasp and doing the same.

“Um…so…wow, it’s getting late,” Gwen says.

It’s seven o’clock.

I don’t point this out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Pete,” she says, hurrying for my bedroom door. “Good job on the web thing.”

“Yeah,” I tell her, flumping down on my bed.

What the hell are you doing, Peter?

 

“Alright, this is the one and only real deal, Spider-Man trying out his new web-shooters for the first time,” Harry says, aiming the camera at me, apparently intent on some kind of vlog about our spider-based adventures.

I hop up and down in place, shaking myself loose in preparation—no, let’s face it, I’m stalling.

“P—Spider-Man,” Gwen says, almost slipping up and using my real name. Even when she says my “codename”, I can hear the exasperation in her voice at such childish measures. “Relax. Remember, one of us has actual natural webbing and is more than capable of catching you if you fuck this up. Which you won’t.”

I glance over at her and then back over the edge of the building. She folds her arms at me as I look back, and even though she’s wearing a mask (and yoga pants, Gwen, what are you _doing_ to me?), her entire body language is expectant.

“Alright, just…fuck it,” I say, and I take off for the edge of the building. I’ve watched Gwen do this more than enough to have the method fairly well figured out. I jump, and there’s that familiar sensation like I’m flying or “falling with style” as Buzz and Woody call it. I reach out and squeeze the button on my palm.

_THWIP!_

A sudden jerk in my shoulder, and I’m zooming forward, up, and right at the top of the swing, I detach and fire the other wrist.

_THWIP!_

“Oooooooh, fuck!” I yell, the wind rushing past me as I swing down again, settling into a pattern. Shoot, swing, detach, shoot, swing, detach, and Broadway is flying beneath me, people looking up and pointing as I soar above them. “What’s up, New York!? I’m swinging through your streets!”

This is amazing. I am swinging along Broadway, Tarzan-style, flying fifty feet in the air. The webs are supporting me just fine, and it’s simple to fall into a rhythm. My increased reaction time and enhanced vision mean I’ve always got my next attachment point picked out by the time I finish the upswing, and if I can’t quite find one, I just scale along a building, spot one, and leap back into it.

Eat your heart out, parkour. This is what Harry would call some “next-level urban George of the Jungle shit”.

I go careening around a corner and have to make a wild correction to avoid pasting myself against the side of a Jewish deli, nearly crashing into a kebab stand before getting a bit more lift and soaring over to some high-rise office building. I land on the side, crawling up and settling onto a ledge. Lifting the goggles I wore to keep the high winds at bay, I look around and spot a small pink blur before I’m joined by Gwen.

“Not bad,” she says, canting her head to the side. “Your form could use some work, but I think you’ll get the hang of it.”

_Whump!_

Harry lands below us, crawling up and hopping onto the ledge as well.

“Man, fuck that web shit,” he says. “I’ll just parkour it.”

“I saw you almost hit that bookstore,” Gwen said, giggling a bit. “As graceful as a gorilla.”

“Yeah, but the gains, Gwen,” Harry says, pulling a flex. “You can’t deny the gains.”

“They are lovely gains,” Gwen admits wryly.

“Mary Jane Watson thinks so,” Harry says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Oh, way to go, Harry,” I say, holding up a fist, and he bumps it. “How long has that been going on?”

“Just since yesterday,” he says, shrugging. “I dunno, I figured she goes for the jock type, maybe she can make due with a rich skater punk about the size and shape of a jock.”

“With jock cred,” I add, and Harry laughs.

“Dude, I’ve been racking up that jock cred,” he says. “Flash Thompson’s gonna release a skate video next summer, bring back the early 2000s punk scene.”

“Which none of us remembers,” Gwen mutters, giggling a bit.

“Which is why we have to bring it back, so I can experience it firsthand,” Harry says fervently. “Sum 41, Blink 182, the Offspring, Angels and Airwaves, my mothafuckin’ jam!”

“We should do a let’s-play of Tony Hawk Pro Skater,” I say, smirking up at him behind my mask.

“Nah, dude, let’s-plays are last week,” he says. “It’s all about over-the-top parkour videos with Spider-Man, Tarantula, and Black Widow.”

“I just love my name,” Gwen says, wiggling her feet out in front of her as she leans against the wall. “It’s so sinister, like the codename for some James Bond villain.”

“Because you’re so sinister,” I laugh, and she smacks my thigh.

“I am _extremely_ sinister,” she pouts, folding her arms petulantly.

I’m about to respond when I hear a shriek of alarm, and all three of us look at each other before hopping onto the side of the building and crawling in the direction the noise came from. We scale the side, crossing the roof and peering down to see two girls, probably two or three years older than us at a glance, surrounded by about five guys.

“Stop carrying on like that,” one of the guys says. “You shoulda known, you’re property of the Kingpin, and he doesn’t let go of his girls just like that.”

“That’s Max Gargan,” Gwen whispers. “He’s a bigtime drug dealer. I’ve seen him in some of Dad’s files he left on his desk.”

“I’ve heard of him,” I say softly back. “He calls himself the Scorpion.”

“Should we do something?” Harry asks.

“Gwen, you and I will take out the bad guys, Harry, you tank for the girls,” I say “Fuck up anyone that gets close.”

“I like it,” Harry says, already standing. “Simple but elegant.”

“On three,” I say, also standing, shaking with nerves but resolved.

“One….” I feel my spider-sense already buzzing in my head a little.

“…Two….” I glance over and see Gwen who notices me looking and flashes me a quick thumbs-up.

“…Three!” We’re off.

I blaze for the edge of the building, hopping over and doing a quick series of mental calculations that make me happy I paid attention in geometry. My hand shoots out.

_THWIP!_

The big guy first, I decide, swinging down and holding my feet out in front of me, colliding with Gargan, who only staggers out of the way and grabs at me, but I’m already zipping away to a landing. I stand and immediately dodge back in a full on Matrix bend as some guy lunges at me with a knife, bringing one of my feet up to kick his wrist and send the knife flying before I stand realize one very important truth.

I’m really not sure how to fight.

Wait, I have web-shooters! I pick the guy up, rearing back and tossing him up, holding out my wrists.

_THWIP-THWIP-THWIP! THWIP!_

“Hey, what the fuck is this!?” the guy yells. “Someone get me down!”

“Nah, just hang there a bit,” I say, my spider-sense buzzing in my head again, and I leap up, dodging a lunging punch from an arm the size of a tree trunk.

Max Gargan is pretty salty about that flying tackle, it seems.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” he says as I careen over his head and land in a crouch, “but you’re in way over your head, my friend.”

“Well, since we’re such good friends, maybe you can do me a favor and just leave these nice girls alone?” I ask. He chuckles, and suddenly, almost faster than I can see, he’s next to me, rearing up for another punch, which I just manage to dodge thanks to the warning bells clanging in my head. He follows up with another lunge at me, but if I’m good an anything, it’s dodging clumsy hits from oversize –

Ow.

A meaty fist connects with my collarbone, and it’s like that time I actually tried skateboarding and landed solidly on my shoulder. The wind is knocked out of me as my back collides with the pavement, and my spider sense clangs as Gargan raises a pipe he must have found lying on the ground or something, because he definitely didn’t have it moments ago.

_THAWP!_

Before he can bring it down, it’s yanked away by a web, and he’s stunned long enough for a barrage of webs to collide with him, wrapping his arms firmly to his body. I raise my own hands and aim at his legs.

_THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!_

His ankles are similarly bound together, and he overbalances, falling onto his side.

“You got no fucking clue who you’re messing with!” he yells. “The Kingpin owns this city, and when he finds out you helped his property escape – “

“If you don’t stop with that misogynist bullshit, you’re gonna be missing a few teeth,” Gwen says, and even I shiver from the chill in her voice.

“You should listen to her,” I say, looking around. “Where’s…Tarantula?”

_Whump!_

Does he just jump everywhere now?

“Yo, the girls are safe, and the brunette was totally into me,” he says, leaning heavily on our shoulders. “What are we doing with him?”

“Well, he’s got like six warrants out on him, so I bet we could drop him off at the police station,” Gwen says.

“Or, we could anonymously _tip off_ the police because I just don’t wanna carry a Mexican drug lord like forty blocks,” Harry says.

“I like his idea,” I say with a nod. “This guy probably weighs like…two-hundred pounds?”

“At least,” Gwen mutters, looking around. “Well, do any of these guys have phones? I’d rather not have the call be traced back to us.”

We dig around in the thugs’ pockets, eventually finding one of those “burn phones” I hear about in literally every spy drama. After a short phone call to some very bemused police officers, we hurry away and convene on a nearby rooftop, watching from a safe distance as the little lot is swarmed by like seven police cruisers and a wagon.

“Holy shit, we did it,” Gwen says, turning to me and hopping in place, hugging me. “Pete, that was us! We stopped Max Gargan _and_ a gang of thugs and saved those girls!”

“Yeah, that was actually pretty awesome,” I say, wrapping an arm around her. Harry comes up behind us and leans on us again.

“And guess who got it all on camera?” he sings happily. “Hello new YouTube channel. The parkour adventures of…the Spider-Pals.”

“The Spider-Trio,” Gwen says.

“No, Spider-Friends, right?”

“What about the Spectacular Spiders?”

“Spider-Fam.”

“Spider-Buds.”

“The Three Musk…spide…no, that’s dumb, never mind.”

“Okay, how about the Web Warriors?”

“The Spinners!”

I’m ashamed to say we spent a literal half hour just suggesting names.

And no, we never did figure one out.


	11. Chapter 11

_Bzzt-bzzt!_

_Bzzt-bzzt!_

_Bzzt-bzzt!_

Shut up, phone, you’re on silent for a reason.

_Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep –_

“Pete! Come look at this!”

Oh, God, I thought I was gonna have a mostly normal day.

“Gwen, let me sleep in and regret it later in peace,” I grumble into my pillow.

Suddenly, I feel a ghost of a breath on my ear, a soft whisper fluttering against my sleepy brain. “We’re on the news.”

Despite the gentle puff of her words, I’m awake instantly, cursing the way my subconscious reacts to every little thing Gwen does to me like it’s magic.

Didn’t Sting write a song about that?

Gwen pulls me out from the warm sanctum of my blankets, and I feel my body recoil as she drags me downstairs, seizing up with shivers at how very cold it is this late October morning. Halloween is on the way, and Harry’s been trying to convince Gwen that we should dress up in all black and be “candy demons”, using our wall-crawling to freak out some kids and steal their candy.

I mean, it sounds fun, in a very mean-spirited sort of way.

We enter into the living room, where Gwen points frantically at the TV. I remember Aunt May mentioned something about a hair appointment this morning, so it’s just the two of us watching…a news report?

“ _…apparently have the ability to crawl along walls and shoot a web-like substance from their wrists, either through naturally-occurring glands or a device of their own construction_ ,” the female anchor is saying. “ _The spider heroes also seem to have impressive strength, as the apparent leader of the trio, the self-styled ‘Spider-Man’ is seen here hefting the alleged drug-dealer Max Gargan with evident ease_.”

“Our fearless leader,” Gwen says with a giggle.

“How do they know my name?” I ask her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Because Harry couldn’t wait to show off his ‘mad video-editing skills’ on our new YouTube channel,” she says as the reporter continues to chatter on about us. “He uploaded that video he took yesterday, and…it’s actually really good. He could be a television producer if he wasn’t so amped about this spider-parkour trip he’s on.”

“Oh, God,” I say, moving over to slump onto the couch. “What if someone recognizes our voices or something?”

“No, it’s really not that bad,” Gwen says, holding up her phone and giving it a little wiggle. “I watched it, and he overlaid a bunch of skater-punk music from like 2004, so you can’t even really hear our voices. He was…actually pretty smart about the whole thing, I’m impressed.”

“Harry’s definitely got some hidden depths,” I say, standing again and stretching. “Alright, gotta make myself into a functional human being.”

“Want some breakfast?” she asks. “I’m no May Parker, but I can scramble an egg.”

“Sure,” I say, moving past her for the bathroom. “Thanks.”

I trot up the stairs and go about my usual morning ritual. This morning, I’m listening to Twenty-One Pilots, because Jess recommended them to me. They’re actually pretty good, in a happy-songs-about-horrible-depression kind of way. I pull on a sweater, jeans, socks, and shoes, staring at myself in my full-length mirror.

I look…different. There are the obvious differences, the spider bite having given me a few more inches in height (which Aunt May has good-naturedly complained about, saying I’m outgrowing the clothes she just bought me) and some lean muscle like a swimmer or jogger might have. The fact that I don’t wear glasses anymore also brings more attention to my eyes and my “powerful jaw” as Gwen calls it.

Her words, not mine.

There’s also just…kind of a difference in the way I carry myself, I suppose. I don’t really notice it most of the time, of course, but when I catch myself in the mirror, I’m sometimes a little surprised at how much my reflection seems to know what he’s doing. At the very least, there’s a hint of confidence, a distinct lack of the timid nerd that’s afraid to make waves.

Bring on the choppy seas; I’ll ride it out.

Heading to my room, I dress and grab my backpack from the floor near my desk, dragging it by the handle down to the kitchen, where I can smell Gwen cooking up some eggs. I step in, and she turns to me with a little smile.

“Aunt May left some cold bacon in the fridge, so we get scrambled eggs with bacon chunks,” she says happily.

“Kickass,” I say, watching as she scoops out two helpings onto some plates, and we settle down at the table. “Thanks again, Gwen. Your kitchen game is strong.”

“As long as you’re not a total chauvinist about it, I’m happy to show off my completely average cooking skills,” she says, taking a bite of her food. We lapse into a comfortable silence, listening to the news drifting in from the other room. Tim Tomlin is going over the weekend forecast, which calls for slightly unseasonable warmth until Sunday night, which could be the first frost of the season.

“So…how are things with Jess?” Gwen asks. “You’ve been running around being Spider-Man a lot, she must be feeling a bit neglected.”

“She can tell something’s going on,” I say, sighing and leaning back in my seat. “She’s…actually being pretty understanding about the secrecy, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

“Well, if she finds out, that wouldn’t be so bad, I think,” Gwen says. “She’s a smart girl, she’d be able to tell that this isn’t something she should just go around blabbing about. Plus, she wouldn’t wanna betray her beloved boyfriend’s trust.”

“True,” I say, smirking at her. “Are you two still getting along?”

She rolls her eyes. “We’re not besties, but I like her well enough.”

“I’m glad you have such a glowing opinion of her,” I say, standing and taking our plates to the sink. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, Harry’s gonna want a glowing review of his video.”

 

“So did you guys watch it?”

I’m not sure if Gwen’s just a really good guesser or if Harry’s just incredibly predictable.

I think the latter.

As soon as we’re off the bus, Harry’s waiting for us, a giant grin on his face. He’s really gotten tall, having already outgrown a whole new wardrobe. He’s still trying to convince me to accept his hand-me-downs from pre-growth-spurt, which would fit me near-perfectly. The only thing stopping me from saying yes is that it’s about $100,000 worth of clothes. He’s threatened to make a call directly to Aunt May, appealing to her desire to see her surrogate son in clothes that fit properly and look amazing.

The dirty bastard.

“I watched it on the bus ride,” I tell him. “It’s actually really well done.”

It is, too. It really was reminiscent of the old extreme sports videos that were so popular in the early 2000s, with rapid zoom-ins to us taking jumps and swinging through the streets and plenty of first-person shots of Harry’s aggressive parkour jumping from building to building.

The only thing missing is an MTV logo in the corner.

“Yeah, I busted my ass on that one,” he says, though from his smile, I can tell he really does appreciate the compliment. “Next time, I wanna strap a body cam to you and get some first-person shots of you doing your web thing.”

“Harry,” Gwen says sharply, gesturing around at our very public location. Harry instantly clams up, checking for eavesdroppers, but no one’s paying us any mind, as usual. “Let’s try to keep things ambiguous?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure what that word means,” Harry says, as if that closes the matter.

I’m about to tell him (as politely as possible), when my spider sense flares up. In that weird normal-speed-slow-motion, I see Gwen glance quickly at me before taking a few steps back, and I reach out to pull Harry with me as I dodge away, but he’s already doing just that, ducking out of the way as a soccer ball flies into the wall instead of my head, bouncing away.

All three of us turn in the direction it came from to see Carl rolling his eyes.

“Nice reflexes, Pecker,” he jeers. “Gonna join the gymnastics club, run around in a unitard?”

“What the fuck, King?” Harry says, turning and advancing on Carl, but Gwen and I each take one of his arms. “How about you stop being a fucking alpha douchebag making a total ass of yourself before you end up fighting _me_? And I won’t take it easy on you like Pete.”

“Bring it on, Osborn,” Carl says, though he doesn’t make a move toward us, staying in his little squad of jocks. “No one here’s falling for your hipster-punk bullshit anyway. You’re just a rich poser that probably got kicked out of some overpriced private school and embarrassed Daddy.”

Harry strains against our grip, and I feel a buzzing in the back of my head that’s not quite my spider sense. Adrenaline surges through me, and I realize it’s Harry’s anger. I glance at Gwen, who’s gritting her teeth, obviously channeling something similar.

“Harry,” I say to him, gripping him tighter, “don’t let him bait you. He’s just trying to get you to throw the first punch – “

“It’ll be the first and last!” Harry says, and I’m a bit alarmed at the anger straining his face, his lips curled up in a snarl. “I’m sick of this limp-dicked jock thinking he’s some kind of big shit around here when all he is is a _piece_ of shit! _Nobody likes you, Carl King! If you died tonight, no one would even celebrate! They just wouldn’t give a fuck! I may be a hipster-skater-whatever, but at least I’m known for something besides being a FUCKING MISTAKE THAT MY MOM WISHES SHE’D SPAT OUT! THE BEST PART OF YOU ROLLED DOWN THE CRACK OF YOUR MOM’S ASS!”_

There’s a ringing silence in the wake of this, and Harry, shakes his arms loose. We both scramble to stop him, but he just turns around and stalks off, his hands clenched so tight I’m afraid his palms might be bleeding. Gwen and I turn to each other, and she looks as shocked as I feel, eyes wide as saucers.

“What the fuck was that?” she mouths at me, and I shrug, shaking my head. We hurry after Harry, mutterings springing up in our wake, most of them sounding just as surprised as us, but others are amused at the brow-beating Harry just delivered.

Carl King doesn’t speak or move.

 

We find Harry behind the pool building, in a seldom-used overflow parking lot. A few cars are pulling up, choosing to park here rather than spend a minute checking for a spot out front. He’s sitting on a bench, resting his elbows on his knees. His right foot is bouncing with agitation, his fingers clenching and unclenching. As we near, that familiar buzzing comes back, but it’s much fainter.

“Harry,” Gwen says, hurrying toward him and laying a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to peer into his eyes. “What the fuck happened back there? You just snapped.”

“I-I dunno,” Harry says, shaking his head, sounding slightly frantic. “It was like someone just flipped a switch or something, like zero to pissed-off in half a second.”

“Was it because he threw that ball at Peter?” Gwen asks, her voice soft and soothing, trying to calm him. I can feel it working, as the sympathetic buzzing slowly fades down.

“I think so,” he says, looking up at me with a wan smile. “No one fucks with my fam.”

“You always did have my back,” I say, smiling back, and the buzzing dies further until I can’t even feel it anymore. “Thanks for looking out for me, but dude, you freaked us out a bit.”

“I freaked _myself_ out a bit,” he says, staring forward. “I could feel myself getting so pissed at him, so tired of all the stupid bullshit he does, it was like…someone set the cruise-control to ninety and I couldn’t turn it off. If you guys didn’t talk me down, I woulda beat the shit out of him.”

“Well, let’s keep an eye out for that, then,” Gwen says, letting a nervous giggle. “We’re always around you anyway, right?”

“Three of a kind,” I say.

“Birds of a feather,” Harry chimes in.

“Now and forever,” Gwen finishes, posing with her arms outstretched. There’s a short moment of silence.

“I don’t know any of the words,” I admit.

“Yeah, no, me either,” Harry agrees.

“Well, it’s Halloween anyway, we should totally hang out and watch that movie some night,” Gwen says. “Like…at Harry’s house, on his obscenely big screen.”

“Hey, chicks love my big screen,” Harry says, standing.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

 

The first half of the day goes by mostly smoothly. There are no more emergency reports of mutant spider-folk, so either the incidents are dying down, or more likely, Norman Osborn paid off the news stations to keep anything under wraps. Third period study hall finds me presenting an excuse slip to Mr. Martin to go take some pictures of chorale practice. I’m looking forward to this significantly more than I probably normally would because –

“Peter Parker,” a voice sings in my ear as I’m making my way to the music building, and two small hands wrap around mine, a kiss landing on my cheek before I turn my head and receive another on the lips. Jess pulls away with a smile that turns into a petulant little pout. “I texted you all morning, but you never responded.”

“You did?” I ask. What am I saying; of course she did. I reach into my pocket and pull my phone out, showing three new texts from her. Crap. I’m a bad boyfriend.

“I figured you were probably distracted,” she says, shrugging easily and bumping me with her shoulder as we head toward the chorale’s clubroom. “You’re always such a diligent texter. And then I heard about Harry having a bit of a blowup at Carl King, so you were probably calming him down.”

“You heard about that?” I ask.

“It’s all over the school,” Jess says with a bemused little smile. “You _didn’t_ hear? Carl ditched; no one’s seen him anywhere.”

“Fine by me,” I say. “He’s a dick.”

“Right?” Jess says, slipping her hand into mine as we walk. “So, um…haven’t seen any new let’s-plays from you and Harry lately.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I say, smiling sheepishly over at her. “Been pretty busy.”

She smirks, giggling a bit and glancing up at me.

“With your super-secret project that gives you insane reaction time?” she asks.

“Pretty much,” I say with a shrug. I turn and give her my most apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“Hm…what if I guessed what it is?” she asks. “I mean, you can sit here and be all Edward Cullen teasingly ambiguous, can’t I be your Bella Swan and guess your vampire thing?”

Wow, that’s twice I’ve been compared to Edward Cullen in the past couple of weeks.

I need to rethink my life.

“I suppose if you guess, I would – “

“You’re Spider-Man,” she says quickly, pulling me to a stop and turning to me with an excited little smile on her face, biting her lip.

Uh….

I….

How…?

“I knew it!” she says in a thrilled little whisper, hopping in place a few times. Apparently, my completely stunned silence is all the confirmation she needs. She jumps into a hug with me and spins around, pulling me onward.

“Jess, how the hell – “

“No, okay, listen,” she says as she drags me along. “Oscorp is doing that thing with spiders, that was in the news. You go to Oscorp to look at the R&D facility, and when you get to school Monday, you’re all kinds of distracted, like two inches taller and suddenly like a Russian gymnast with how agile and stuff you are, and surprise, you don’t need glasses anymore. I see your eyes up close all the time when we kiss; I didn’t see contacts. Then, Spider-Man makes the news and has a YouTube video out set to the same kind of music your let’s-play channel uses in your videos, and let’s see, overgrown teenage boy, wiry boy, girl with yoga pants that show off how much her butt happens to look exactly like Gwen’s, which, be jealous, I’ve seen while we were changing for swim practice.”

“…Are you Sherlock Holmes?”

“No, I just pay attention to things,” she says, sounding amused, “especially when those things have to do with my boyfriend, who I kinda really like a whole lot and would never dream of outing as some kind of parkour superhero.”

“What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing girlfriend?” I ask, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

“You were just your usual charming self,” she says.

 

“She knows about us?” Harry asks as the three of us walk through the crowded halls to the first pep rally of the year. “Like…all of us?”

“Yeah, she said she figured it out from a bunch of random clues she put together,” I tell them. “I think she wants to be a detective or like an investigative journalist.”

“Pete…” Gwen says, and her voice sounds unsure as we’re buffeted by the crowds in the hallway. “Are you sure you didn’t just…slip up and – “

“Gwen, what do you take me for?” I ask, actually slightly offended at that implication. “I’m not some idiot that would blab the biggest secret of my life just to impress a girl.”

“Yeah, that’s me, remember?” Harry says with a smirk. “Speaking of which, since Jess knows, maybe I could – “

“Harry, you are _not_ telling MJ,” Gwen says firmly. “Peter and Jess have been dating for a while, and she’s proven that she’s trustworthy. We don’t need some girl you _just_ started dating knowing.”

“Oh, come on, I – “

“PARKER!”

I jump as we enter the gym, Flash greeting me with his usual enthusiasm. He makes his way over from where the football team is clustered in the middle of the gym, dragging me with him and slapping me gently on the chest. I look down to see he’s tagged me with a sticker that says “Press Pass”.

Evidently, I’m the photographer again.

“Yo, so I’m having a Halloween party at my place tonight,” he says, clapping me on the shoulders. “You’re coming, right?”

“Oh,” I utter, blinking and looking up at him. “I’m invited?”

“Dude, yeah,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re pals, and I’m inviting you. Jess is gonna be there.” He smirks. “I bet you two get drunk and finally get some action, become a _man_!”

I roll my eyes, but I know he’s just throwing banter at me. “Yeah, sure, Flash, I’ll be there.”

“Yes!” he pumps his fist. “Harry and Gwen are invited, too, so I want all of you there celebrating when we kick the Infernos’ asses!” He yells the last part the crowd, who bursts into cheers.

“Flash, I admire your school spirit, but let’s watch our language,” Principal Davis says as he walks by, and Flash just give him a thumbs-up.

Well, party tonight, it seems.

I wander amongst the rally as the principal gathers everyone’s attention, managing to snap a picture of him with his arms outstretched as he faces the bleachers full of students. It’s a good shot, definitely newspaper-worthy.

Thankfully, I’ve been taking pictures so long that I can do it while my mind is on other things, as I’m still reeling from the fact that Jess has figured out our secret so easily. My hands can work the camera, and I can absently line up my shots while my mind wanders over the implications of this revelation. Granted, Jess is the most likely to figure us out, being my girlfriend and very involved in my life as such. In fact, I was already fretting about how to break the news to her. How do you tell someone that you were bitten by a radioactive spider that just _happened_ to give you and your friends amazing spider powers?

Is that dinner-date conversation material?

What worries me most is that she figured it all out with apparent ease. Of course, she’s also sharp, intuitive, and had more information than most. She knew we would be at Oscorp around the time of the spider breakout, she saw the sudden decrease in video output on our YouTube channel, and she’s familiar with our “style” of video, which she matched to our newest super-secret parkour video. Not to mention my sudden displays of athletic ability and amazing gymnastic prowess.

The problem is, there are other people that would have access to those very same resources and can infer the same sort of things with the right amount of digging, namely Norman Osborn. I don’t think that he’s the type that follows his son on YouTube, but Tony Stark…might. He’s the kind of man that never outgrows technology, including social media. I’m sure he has a Twitter page, a low-key YouTube account, heck, he’s probably even on Tumblr.

And with Tony Stark and Norman Osborn on the way to becoming BFFs in an odd-couple sort of way, that doesn’t bode well for the Spider-Trio.

Or…Spider-Friends, or whatever.

But what do we do? As I snap a picture of the cheerleaders showing off a new choreographed dance routine, I muse that the only reasonable thing to do would be to tell Harry not to plaster us all over YouTube, but as easy as it is to film anyone or take pictures from thousands of feet away these days, would that do any good?

If worse comes to worse, Harry can always appeal to Norman’s paternal nature. He may be strict, serious, and every definition of the word stern, but Normal Osborn loves his son. I bet we can spin that into him just leaving us be, since we’re not in any immediate danger from the spider bites. We might even be able to help him neutralize the bite victims that _are_ dangerous.

Somehow, even more-so than being found out, the thought of having to get into another fight is the most intimidating. My new enhanced abilities make me very…harmful to others, and I don’t like the idea of taking advantage of that. The scariest part of Harry’s outburst this morning was the idea that Carl could have realistically ended up actually dead.

No one deserves to die.

The pep rally goes off without a hitch, and I get some really good shots of the cheerleaders (including Mary Jane Watson striking a few poses at me), the football team, the crowd going crazy in a fit of school spirit and general excitement to be in school without actually having to learn.

The cute shot of Liz Allan in full cheerleader regalia smiling up at Flash in his football jersey, looking at him like he means the whole world to her, is probably going to make the yearbook.

As the students disperse to spend the remaining time in their final classes of the day, Jess runs up and hugs me from behind.

“Maybe I should join the cheerleading squad,” she says into my ear. “Give you an excuse to watch me running around in a little skirt, flashing my – “

“That,” I cut smoothly across her, “would be an awful idea.”

She blinks, looking hurt for a second. “Why?”

“I’d never get any pictures taken at a pep rally ever again,” I say, grinning at her. “I’d be too busy playing photographer for the hottest cheerleader in the world.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you are too much sometimes,” she says before smiling and kissing me on the cheek.

“Why do you think I don’t have any good pictures of the swim team?” I ask, leading her out of the gym. “I’ve got plenty of the star swimmer.”

“Oh, please, I’m not even the fastest swimmer,” she says. “Gwen’s been leaving us all in the dust. Or…well, in the bubbles or whatever. I guess I know why, now.”

“And that’s gonna stay between us four, right?” Gwen asks from behind us, and we slow to a stop, turning as one to see her standing there with Harry. Her arms are folded almost warily across her chest, but she gives Jess a small smile. Jess grins right back, shaking her head.

“I promise, no matter what, your secret is safe with me,” she says. “And I know what you’re thinking, but Pete didn’t tell me. I really did just figure it out.”

“She’s low-key stalking me,” I say, shrugging, and Jess just smacks me in the shoulder.

“Only kinda.”


	12. Chapter 12

“So, could I come along sometime, watch you guys do your spider stuff?” Jess asks as we lounge on my bed, peering curiously over at me. It’s now become common practice for her to ride the bus home with me about twice a week and hang out for a few hours. Aunt May and Uncle Ben absolutely love her, and Aunt May even just laughs it off when she catches us in our more “cuddly” moments.

Like right now. Lying with her head pillowed on my chest, my arm wrapped around her stomach, catching our breath after what Jess loves to call “full-on tongue-dancing make-out”, we’re about as cuddly as we can get with adults in the house.

“Pete?” Jess nudges me. “You alright? Did it get too intense?”

“No, no, just the right amount of intense,” I say, smiling at her, reaching up to run my fingers through her hair. She murmurs and nuzzles into my chest. “Um…I’m not sure, though. About coming along. I’d love it, but we move pretty fast, and well….”

“I’m just a muggle,” she says, sounding amused.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really mean it. It would be awesome to have her along on our crazy web-swinging exploits.

“No, no, it’s alright,” she says. “I mean…you could be out there having a blast right now, but you’re here with me, and that means a lot.”

“I can’t have _every_ moment of my life be action-packed,” I say. “It’s nice to have some quiet time to chill out, and who better to do that with than my girlfriend?”

“So it’s good I’m a muggle?” she asks, smiling up at me.

“Why do you think so many wizards marry muggles in Harry Potter?” I ask. “It’s not the power, it’s the personality.”

Her fingers dance along my chest, dragging across my shirt before she grips it and leans in for another lingering kiss. Pulling away, she crawls up to her knees next to me, looming over me with a warm smile.

“Every time I think you’ve reached your limit for sappy charm, you just take it even further,” she whispers.

“I’m breaking down barriers,” I chuckle, and she just winks at me, leaning back to take my hands. She pulls them toward her, and then everything is just amazingly soft.

“More like rounding bases.”

Life is good.

 

“Okay, what’s with the stupid grin, Pete?” Gwen asks, giving me a wry smile as we wait in my living room for Walton to stop by and pick us up to go to the party that is apparently now a victory party, as the Midtown High football team started the season on a high note with a crushing victory over PS 118. Jess steps in from a bathroom break, hearing the question and winking at me as she flops down to sit on my other side, leaning against me.

“Wouldn’t you be in a good mood after spending all afternoon with your bae?” she asks, and I roll my eyes.

“Alright, I draw the line at ‘bae’,” I say. “I’ll allow lots of sappy pet names, but not ‘bae’.”

“Awww, spoilsport,” Jess pouts, but she giggles, bumping me with her shoulder and leaning in to whisper in my ear. “What if I really like ‘bae’ and choose to revoke certain _privileges_ – “

“I think ‘bae’ could grow on me,” I say, and Jess cackles, shaking her head.

“You are so cute!” she says. “Okay, ‘bae’ is off the table. I don’t really go for pet names anyway.”

“Gosh, maybe I’ll go wait outside so I can keep an eye out for Harry and _not_ go swimming in teenage hormones,” Gwen says briskly, standing and heading out of the room. I hear the front door open and shut a little harder than usual, looking at Jess, who has a contrite look on her face.

“Oops,” she mutters. “I…honestly forgot she was here.”

“Maybe we carried it a tiny bit too far,” I admit, glancing toward the door again. “Should we go, like…talk to her?”

Jess shakes her head, sighing. “I think she just needs to sort some things out.”

“Maybe we could explore more of these ‘privileges’ you were talking about while we wait?” I ask, glancing over at her, and she giggles softly, her face turning a little pink.

“Not now,” she says softly. “If Gwen walks back in and sees us exploring _anything_ , it would probably just make things worse. And be kind of totally embarrassing.”

“Fair enough,” I say, feeling my phone buzz in my pocket as the front door opens.

“Harry’s here,” Gwen says, her voice sounding like she’s trying to _not_ still sound upset.

Ignorance, Pete. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, even when it’s the “plausible deniability” kind of ignorance.

Shit, who am I kidding? This all feels like it’s just gonna blow up in my face, and sooner rather than later.

I join the girls and head down the front porch into a chilly October evening. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, and the New York City nightlife seems far away in this quiet little suburb. Miles away, Manhattan is probably just coming to life, the Friday night bar scene warming up for a night of office workers celebrating another successful week of…office things.

And four high-school children are climbing into a car that cost more than some small houses to celebrates a sports victory none of them had any part in while balancing one of the most complex love triangles I’ve ever denied existed.

To borrow a phrase from Charlie Brown, good grief.

 

After a tense car ride in which Harry excitedly outlines his plan to try to reach second base with Mary Jane Watson and Jess valiantly avoids eye contact with anyone in the car, we reach Flash Thompson’s house.

“This is like the first party I’ve ever been to,” Jess says nervously as we all scoot for the door.

“Ditto,” I say.

“Same,” Harry says.

“Likewise,” Gwen mutters.

We all clamber out of the car, Walton promising to stay nearby until needed. Jess immediately takes my hand, and we all make our way along the path. She nudges me as we walk, pointing down the street.

“There’s my house,” she says. “See my dad’s car in the drive?”

I recognize the blue sedan that Mr. Cambell picks Jess up in from school, taking a moment to appreciate the house, which like my own, is a copy-paste of the whole neighborhood, though with the addition of a small prefabricated tool shed in the backyard.

One of Jess’s parents loves to garden, it seems.

“You have a lovely secret lair,” I say as we near Flash’s house. Already, I can feel the steady thud of a song with a whole lot of bass being pumped out of what is probably a pretty expensive subwoofer, mingling with the low hum of chatter, laughter, and the occasional burst of excited yelling.

You know, party sounds.

We step onto the porch, and before Harry can even press the doorbell, the front door is slammed open, the music growing louder as Flash Thompson greets us with a giant smile.

“Yes!” he whoops. “Parker, Osborn, the lovely Miss Stacy, and…Jessicaaaaaa.”

“Hey, Flash,” I say, raising my hand in a greeting. “Congrats on the game.”

“Fuck yeah, you mess with the Stallions, you get KICKED IN THE TEETH!” Flash says, and for the first time, I notice a bottle in his hand that is obviously empty but just as obviously once contained alcohol.

It’s _that_ kind of party.

“Alright, get in here, it’s fuckin’ freezing out there,” Flash says, stepping back. “Osborn! Don’t go far, I wanna show you my new skateboard!”

“Aw, fuck yeah,” Harry says. “Flash Thompson, Pro Skater.”  


“You fuckin’ know it!” Flash says. “Alright, drinks in the kitchen, we got tunes, and I’ve got some video games set up in the basement if you guys wanna join the Smash tournament. Kong’s on a winning streak with Jigglypuff, it’s blowing everyone’s minds.”

“Okay, I kinda wanna see that,” I say, and Jess squeezes my arm.

“Drink first?” she asks, giggling. I bite my lip, glancing at Gwen, who looks equally nervous.

“You can’t even comprehend how grounded I would be if my _police Captain father_ caught me drinking,” she says.

I glance back at Jess. Uncle Ben once told me that, as a teenager, he knew that I would likely wind up in a situation just like this, and that he did plenty of similarly irresponsible things at my age.

“I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t make plenty of mistakes when I was your age, because it’s just part of growing up,” he said. “But you also have the responsibility of realizing when you’ve reached your limit. Only you can figure that out.”

He sure did love that word. Responsibility.

“Fuck it, I’ll have one,” I decide, and Jess squeezes my arm.

“Awesome!” Flash says, pointing in the direction of the kitchen. “Just take what looks good from the fridge, I’m gonna show Harry my new board.”

I lead the way to the kitchen, surprised to see Gwen following.

“Peer pressure,” she says, shrugging. “Besides, I think it might do me some good to have a drink.”

I open the fridge, scanning the bottles. Flash said to take what looks good, but how am I supposed to know what’s good among Mikes’ Hard Lemonade, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Bud Select, Smirnoff, Jack Daniel’s Downhome Punch, Not Your Father’s Root Beer….

“Jeez, did he buy out the liquor aisle at Walmart?” Gwen mutters, reaching across me for a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. “Supposedly, you can’t even taste the alcohol.” She uncaps it with her shirt, taking a swig and wincing a bit. “Tart. Not bad.”

She wanders off, leaving Jess and me staring at the selection. I reach for a root beer, having always loved it in its soft-drink form. Jess does the same, and we pop the tops, looking up at each other nervously.

“On three?” I ask, and she nods.

“One,” she says.

“Two,” I add.

“Three,” we say at the same time, taking a drink. I expected it to be some kind of monumental moment, like I would take a drink, the flavor would hit me like a freight train, and I would just be drunk.

Instead, it tastes like root beer. Slightly disappointed, I take another drink, as does Jess, and she studies the bottle in apparent confusion.

“It’s just – “

“Root beer, yeah,” I finish for her, and we both shrug. Maybe it takes a little bit to hit.

“Wanna play some Smash?” she asks.

“I dunno, I don’t wanna intimidate you with my insane Smash skills,” I say. She smirks.

“Bring it on, Parker.”

 

“I’m just sayin’, like, it’s a pattern. You know what to look for, and you have the time to react, so you just…counter.”

“Ffffuck countering, Parker,” Kong says, shaking his head. “Countering’s a myth. You’re cheating. You have like super-crazy techno-babble powers and can talk to the Wii.”

“Wiiiiiiii,” Jess sings, flopping against my side.

“Rematch!” someone yells from the back.

“Alright, how about this?” I say. “Rematch, we both play as Kirby and toss in like the DK Amiibo to keep us on edge.”

“You are fucking _on_!” Kong says, going to the character select screen. Jess trails her hand over my chest, tickling me softly in the stomach.

“Good luck kiss?” she asks, and I lean in, capturing her lips in a sloppy, drunken kiss that gets no small amount of cheers and whistles from the others in the room. By the time I come up for air, the announcer is counting down on the screen, and a pink puffball faces off with a blue puffball while a giant green gorilla rampages around and tries to annihilate both of them.

Frankly, I feel bad for both Kongs (ha) on the screen. Even in my slightly drunken state, my reaction time and attention to detail are just too good. It’s another bloodbath, and in two minutes flat, the match is over, my Kirby finishing with all of his lives still intact.

“Jeez, you should join the pro tournaments or something, Parker,” Kong says, punching my shoulder. “You could make some bank.”

“Ah, it’s just beginner’s luck or something,” I insist, standing and stretching. “Alright, I’ma go get some air. Jess?”

“Help,” she says, holding her hands out. I reach down and tug her to her feet, and she staggers into me, giggling and hugging onto me. “Peteeerrrr. I’m druuuuuunnnkuuuuhhh.”

“I knoooooow,” I say, guiding her to the stairs, which she ponderously manages to climb with guidance from me.

“How many’ve we even had?” Jess asks, stumbling toward the fridge. “I re’mber, like…we finished the firs’ ones, an’ Flash brought us more?”

“I think this is number…four…?” I’m not really sure. Man, Jess is gorgeous tonight. I wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her to me in a hug, and she nestles into my arms.

“Mmmm, we should go t’ my place,” she says in a whisper. “Mom and Dad are out for the night at some…fuck it, thing. I can show you my roooom, and show you…other stuff.” She giggles and presses herself against me.

“That seems like something we should _not_ do while we’re drunk,” I say, leaning even more heavily against her, causing her to giggle and fall into the fridge, jostling some bottles. She emerges with two more bottles of root beer, passing one to me and turning around in my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down into a kiss.

“Then come t’ my place, spend th’ night,” she says, “and when we wake up t’morrow, we can spend aaaall daaay…hav’n sssssex.”

Oh, wow, she’s really drunk. “If you still think that’s a good idea tomorrow, we can do that,” I say with a chuckle. Her response is another slow, lingering kiss, her body pressing against mine and making it really tempting to take her up on her offer, but even in a drunken haze, my common sense is yelling at me that that way lies only darkness and heartbreak. She steps back, taking a drink and giggling as she stumbles toward a counter.

“Oh, potty break,” she says, as though she just realized she really has to go to the bathroom. Maybe she did. I watch her toddle off in the direction of the bathroom, rolling my eyes and deciding that I actually could use some air. The kitchen has a little sliding door that leads out to a small back porch in what accounts for a backyard in suburban Queens, so I step out into the quiet, cold night.

My breath misting before me, I lean on a railing and survey the browning grass. A single tree grows in the back corner of the Thompsons’ yard, bearing a lone tire swing. The football on the ground nearby tells me Flash has probably recently appropriated the tire as a means of target practice.

Behind me, the thudding music grows louder as the soft hiss of the sliding door opening announces a new arrival.

“Pete,” Gwen’s voice says, and I feel my heart sink at the husky, choked quality, like she hasn’t really said my name as much as sobbed it out. I turn around, and if my heart sank before, it’s now digging a hole through the ocean bed, tunneling to new depths at the sight of Gwen Stacy, eyes puffy and red, her hair a mess, her headband hanging around her neck.

“Gwen,” I say as she staggers toward me, landing against my chest. “Hey. What happened, Gwen?”

“Pete,” she says again, sniffing and shivering against the cold and huddling against me for warmth. The little black dress she wore for the party is not at all good winter wear, and her white cardigan seems to have gone missing. “Do you remember…when we first met? Sidewalk chalk, cats with mismatched eyes?”

I laugh. “Yeah, and you shanghaied me into being your best friend.”

She lets a watery giggle, shuddering against my chest. “My…. When my mom died, I just…shut down, I guess. Dad tried to raise me, and he did great, but…you’ve met the guy, he wasn’t the type to help a little girl make friends or find her way in life. But…you were just as awkward about it as me, so I think…we could just be totally awkward and weird together and just…accept each other. And you…you understood me. You lost your parents, too, so I could talk about it with you.”

I just nod, not sure if I’m liking where this is going.

“Gwen….”

“No, Pete,” she says, shaking her head and pouting up at me. “Please…I’m talking right now. I just…I never realized before…how much I need you. We’ve grown up together, and I don’t think I realized how…how much you mean to me until I felt like I was losing you. I _still_ feel like I’m losing you, Pete. Every time you kiss _her_ or get all sappy with _her_ , it’s like…like with Mom all over again. The only person who understands me is…leaving me.”

“Gwen, I would never leave you,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve got it all wrong – “

“You say that, but…Pete, it’s not enough,” she says. “I can’t…I don’t _want_ to just be the girl friend. I tried, I really did. I’m so sorry, but…it’s eating me up inside, it’s like…the more I try to deny it and move on, the bigger it gets, until I just…. I can’t deny it anymore.”

Gwen, stop.

Stop.

“Pete….”

Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy, you stop, do _not_ –

“I love you.”

No, no, no. Nope. No. It’s like The Shining all over again.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_Pete, I love you._

_Love you._

_LOVE you._

Even Jess and I haven’t dared drop the L-bomb yet, but here Gwen is, throwing her hat in the ring and trying for a commanding lead.

I’m not aware I’m backing up until I miss a step and nearly tumble down the porch steps, but my reflexes kick in, and I catch myself, staggering into the yard. In my head, her words swim around, and it’s like my life flashing before my eyes, but only select scenes with Gwen and me, Jess and me, like some perverse side-by-side comparison, and I feel awful just for _thinking_ of that.

Jess is my girlfriend.

Gwen loves me.

Jess is my _girlfriend_.

Gwen was my first love.

Jess _is_ my _girlfriend_.

I still love –

“Jess is my girlfriend!” I say out loud, backing away. I can’t even deal with this right now.

“Pete….”

“No!” I say, shaking my head. “It was going so well! It _is_ going so well, and you had to say that and now….”

“Pete, just…I’m sorry, come here and let’s talk – “

“Pete, what’s going on?”

No. Can this really get any worse? Jess steps out onto the back porch, shivering in the night air. She looks between us, and her expression is confused but also guarded.

“Peter?”

I don’t know what to do. With them standing there, side by side, it’s like one of those sick choices in a video game where you know that no matter what you pick, you’re going to feel like shit when it all drops.

I back against Flash’s fence, feeling my hands grip and carry me _up_ the fence. Unthinkingly, I hop over the back.

“Peter!”

I swear, Gwen, if you run after me….

But she doesn’t, thank goodness. She’s probably too drunk to figure out _how_.

The sounds of the party fade behind into the distance as I run through a series of backyards, hopping fences like some kind of hurdler on steroids. I reach into my pocket, pulling out my mask and gloves, tugging them on to make some effort to hide my face in case someone sees my athletics.

I need to get out of here. Out this neighborhood, out of Queens. The Manhattan nightlife I was thinking of earlier suddenly seems like it would be a good place to just lose myself and not think.


	13. Chapter 13

_THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!_

Web-swinging isn’t as relaxing as I thought it would be. As I soar between the Manhattan high-rises and into SoHo, I realize that it’s gotten so routine that I can let my thoughts wander, which is the opposite of ideal for someone who can only think about how fucked up his love life has gotten.

What the fuck, Gwen?

“What the _fuck_ , Gwen!?” I yell into my mask as I swing.

In the distance, the Statue of Liberty draws closer, the high-end businesses fading into equally high-end boutiques and lofts. I’ve always loved the thought of living in SoHo, having a fancy loft apartment with plenty of space for a little photography studio on one side and a huge science lab on the other, so I can just hop between my two hobbies. The place itself would be like one giant art piece, a study of juxtaposition or something.

I quickly shut down that train of thought, though; it always ends up with imaginings of Gwen as a roommate, possibly more. Lately, Gwen’s been supplanted by Jess, though the scenario is mostly the same. Instead of Gwen helping and participating in the science side, though, Jess would be giving me photography tips, maybe helping arrange a portfolio or just making me tea and quietly supporting me while becoming some kind of private eye.

Either fantasy is just painful to entertain right now, though; thoughts of either girl just end up confusing me. I feel like I have to pick between them, which feels disingenuous to Jess, who has done nothing more than ask out a boy she liked who had no reason to say no and plenty to say yes. But when I think about Gwen, about the soft-spoken confession of her love, I get this…leaping in my heart, and in that tangled muddle of I-don’t-know is a stab of triumph that just makes me feel like even more of a creep.

Gwen Stacy is in love with me.

That would have been nice to know about two months ago, Gwen.

I loop around a light pole and perch on the top, crawling down and plopping onto a bench on the shore of the Upper Bay. Perched out in the middle of the water, Lady Liberty stands with her torch held high, looking rather small in the distance. When I was about ten, Uncle Ben and Aunt May took Gwen and me to see it. We got to check out the observation deck, and we both got those ridiculous foam hats they sell to the tourists. I think I still have mine on some shelf in my room.

“You know, she used to be like solid copper or something, right?” a voice says behind me, making me jump a bit. “Well, I mean, she still is, but she turned green because of like the weather or something, right?”

I turn around to see Harry making his way toward me, tugging his mask off and dropping onto the bench next to me. He wears a thoughtful smile as he stares across the water, his breath misting before him.

“Yeah, the sun and the elements made the copper oxidize and turn green,” I say, removing my own mask. “She used to be kinda dull brown, like a penny. How did you find me?”

“Followed your webs,” he says with a gesture behind him. “Plus, you love SoHo, right? All this pretentious artsy hipster shit, it’s like nirvana for you.”

“You know me so well,” I say with a small smile, and he smirks at me.

“That’s what best friends do,” he says, studying me for a moment. “You wanna talk about it?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Not right now,” I say. “Maybe later, but right now, I just need to…process.”

“Process away,” he says, shrugging and shifting to pull out his phone, but his hand comes up empty. “Fuck, left my phone at Flash’s. Oh! Dude, MJ and I? Second base. She’s a classy lady, though, so that’s all I got.”

“Nice,” I say, with a weak smile, my gaze not leaving the bay stretched out before us. “Careful, though. She seems like a handful.”

“Actually, she’s just about a handful,” Harry says, and he winks as I look over and makes a little wiggling motion with his fingers. I just roll my eyes and shake my head, trying to chase away similar thoughts of Jess and “rounding bases” with her.

“You alright?” Harry asks. “Yo, there’s a twenty-four-hour bistro two blocks over, wanna grab some coffee?”

Actually, a hot cup of coffee sounds pretty good right now, to chase away the alcohol still making my brain all fuzzy and also because it’s just really cold out.

“Yeah. Coffee.”

 

After a short web-swing trip (well, swinging for me; Harry still loves to just jump from building to building) to the Bean Drop 24/7 Bistro, we buy two coffees and drown them in sugar and milk. Harry also gets two giant muffins and has one wolfed down before we even reach our table.

“Gains, bro.”

“I think you’ve gained enough.”

We sit in a window seat, quietly drinking our coffees and enjoying the climate-controlled dining area. Besides us, there are three other people in the shop, one girl wearing an Empire State University hoodie and pajama pants and typing so fast on a laptop that even my keen senses lose her fingers sometimes, and two guys wearing uniforms from the gas station across the street and playing some card game.

Must be “lunch” time.

I look over to see Harry staring out the window, lost in thought, probably. He’s not bothering me to talk, not forcing conversation, and that’s awesome. Right now, what I need is the simple company of a friend that I know will always just be a friend, unless either of us decides we’re gay.

Judging from the enthusiastic talk about Mary Jane Watson’s “handfuls”, I don’t think I have to worry about that anytime soon.

“Thanks, Harry,” I say, taking a drink of coffee.

“Hey, I gotchu, fam,” he says, holding up a fist. “Pals for life, right?”

“You bet,” I say, reaching out and pounding the fist. He leans back in his seat, stretching with a groan.

“Ah, it’s like…one in the morning, though, so we should probably get back to my place sometime soon,” he says. “You can crash there, and we can spend all day tomorrow playing vidya and processing. Saturday night, we get you back home and…attack the problem.”

“Is moving out of state an option?” I ask.

“I mean…I’m stupid rich, so yeah, it really is,” Harry says with a chuckle. “We just need your aunt and uncle’s permission, or it’s kinda kidnap, I think.”

“Well, we’re both underage, so it would just be a case of teenage runaways,” I say. “But then they’d trace any credit card use, and neither of us has cash.”

“We could become freelance bodyguards or something,” Harry points out. “I mean, short of another supe, who’s gonna have a chance against us?”

I’m about to point out that there are plenty of super bad guys out there when a commotion sounds from across the street. Everyone in the shop looks up as a loud yell sounds, two tinny gunshots sounding before car tires screech. Someone goes running away from the front door of the gas station, climbing into an old two-door that goes tearing away with another squeal of the tires.

“Do we do something?” Harry asks. I just shrug and lean back, thinking of all of the bullshit I’ve already been through today.

“I’m not feeling like a hero tonight,” I say as I finish my coffee. “Race you back to your place?”

 

“Dude, I know we just had coffee, but I am so wiped,” Harry says, crawling into his bedroom window. I follow after him, nodding in agreement.

“Just gimme some blankets, I’ll make a burrito bed on your floor,” I say, making my way to the bathroom. “After I take a wicked piss.”

“Yo, remember to flush,” he says as he plops into his computer chair. “Cleaning lady’s been getting on us about that.”

“You bet,” I tell him. I make my way across the dark hallway, wondering if Norman is home or if he spent another night at Oscorp. Apparently, he has what amounts to a second home on the top floor of the building and has spent days at a time away from the penthouse.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

I make sure to flush, trudging back to Harry’s room to find him sitting at his computer, but he turns toward me at my entrance. I’m just about to kick off my shoes and drag some blankets out of his linen closet myself when I see the look he’s giving me, like he just watched his dog get run over by a bus and isn’t sure how to process it.

“Pete…” he says, shaking his head and rolling away from the desk, pointing at the computer screen.

I’m beginning to feel a sense of dread welling up in my chest; Harry has never _ever_ been this serious before. I hurry to the screen, peering at it.

**_From: Gwen Stacy_ **

_Harry Osborn WTF are you? Are you with Peter?_

_If you’re with Peter tell him to get home now!_

_Harry!_

_Uncle Ben’s been in an accident! He was out looking for Pete! Where are you!?_

_Harry please it’s not looking good. We’re at Lennox Hill Hospital ER. If you find Peter tell him and bring him here._

I’m out the window before I even have my mask on.

Lennox Hill isn’t hard to find; we had to go there once when Harry split his eyebrow open trying a kick-flip. He had to get stitches in his eyebrow and it swelled shut because he kept picking at them. I don’t know why I’m thinking this. I don’t know why or how I’m thinking of anything.

_THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!_

The wind is stinging my face, and I have to fight to keep my eyes open. Web-swinging without the mask or goggles was probably not a good idea, but tonight’s been a big night for awful ideas. Why not one more?

_THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!_

He’s still alive. He has to be alive. I’ll get there, and Uncle Ben will be connected to some tubes and wires, but he’ll still be alive, just like in the movies. He’ll smile and tell me he’s just fine but not to scare him like that. He’ll be sent home in a week or two and gripe about all the work he’s going to miss, joke about how we’ll have to burn books to stay warm this winter. Aunt May will dote over him while he’s home and recuperating, and he’ll offer some sage advice on how to deal with all of this craziness with Gwen and Jess, which seemed like such a big deal an hour ago but now makes me wonder why I was ever so worried about it at all.

Maybe he’ll be hurt enough to spend some time in a wheelchair, but he’ll be alive.

Maybe he’ll have lost a limb or two, but he’ll be alive.

But one thing that is laughably inconceivable is a world where Uncle Ben was allowed to die in something so simple and pointless as a car crash.

I land in a small alley beside the hospital, aware of a muffled _whump_ behind me as Harry lands, but I’m already running for the entrance. I almost crash through the sliding doors when they don’t open fast enough, and I have to employ some spider reflexes to dodge some orderly with a clipboard as I dash for the front desk.

“My uncle,” I say, all but running into the counter. “Benjamin Parker. He was in a car crash.”

The receptionist looks down at her computer screen to type in some information, and I see her face fall. “Oh…honey, he’s…. They’re bringing him out of the ICU, but…I’m so sorry….”

“Where is he!?” Why is it so foggy in here? I blink, and warm wetness runs down my face. The receptionist calls for a nurse, who quietly leads us into a large room with curtained off partitions.

I hear sobbing.

Horrible, pained, awfully familiar sobbing.

It was the same sobbing I heard when we received the news that my parents were dead.

A curtain is pulled aside, and I drop to my knees. Everything around me seems to go quiet, all other noise just muffling away as I take in the sight of Uncle Ben, Benjamin Parker, who is supposed to be so full of life even in his sixties, lying pale and motionless on a gurney.

No.

God, no.

Damn it!

DAMN IT!

I’m not even aware that I’m yelling the words at the top of my lungs until Gwen and Aunt May look over, finally noticing my arrival.

“Peter, oh my God!” Gwen gasps, rushing over and dropping onto me in a hug. “Peter, I’m so sorry!”

“Uncle Ben!” He’s just sedated or something. He just needs…something! There has to be like…something they haven’t tried! Why aren’t they still trying anything!? “Uncle Ben, I’m right here! You need to….”

You need to still be alive.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

You need to still be here to tell me more about life, more about love. I’m just a stupid kid that goes to parties and gets drunk and has way too much going on.

Gwen squeezes me tighter, and on my other side, Harry kneels and wraps an arm around me.  Somehow this just makes it worse. They’re comforting me, but that means there’s something to comfort me for. That means….

That means Uncle Ben is truly gone.


	14. Chapter 14

_“I’m taking back the CROOOWWN! I’m all dressed up but – “_

Oh, dear God, I forgot I set a new alarm song. My hand reaches out and taps feebly in the direction of my phone, snagging it and swiping up as Brendon Urie continues to show off his maddeningly impressive vocal range. Sitting up, I blow a strand of hair out of my face, parting the thick blonde curtains that I really should get trimmed sometime, if only to fit under my mask better.

Well…that’s if we ever decide to go be spider-pals again.

I swing my legs over the bed, shivering a bit. Dad has the heater on, but in all of his frugality, he’s decided it only needs to be kept at about sixty-five, which means about fourteen blankets at night and a lot of willpower to crawl out from under them every morning.

And fleece pajamas, because the warmth is worth static cling.

I make my way to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and staring at myself in the mirror. Flipping my reflection the bird, I spit and rinse, but even with minty fresh Colgate leaving my mouth 99.9% germ-free, I still have a bitter taste in my mouth.

We all do, lately.

I strip down and step into the shower, enjoying the steamy warmth, the way the hot water leaves my chilly bathroom looking like a sauna filled with clouds of steam. The little window set high in the wall shows me that it’s snowing out, or that some leftovers from the snowfall last week are being blown off the roof.

January is off to a chilly start.

Soon enough, I’m toweling off, and since no one’s home, I streak back to my room. At least my window shade isn’t open. Not that Pete would peek in anyway; he learned not to do that the hard the way when we were twelve.

Plus, he’s likely still sleeping and will need to be dragged from bed by yours truly.

Next stop is my dresser, where I pull out a simple sweatshirt and jeans combo today, opting for warmth over style in these chilly months. Grabbing my comb, I run it through my hair to try to make it look like anything but a bale of sun-bleached hay. Setting it down, I survey myself in the mirror. Ugh, bags under my eyes, sallow skin from lack of sunlight, and I think I have a pimple forming on my forehead.

C’mon, Gwen. You can’t let yourself go. You have to be at your best; Peter Parker deserves it after what you put him through.

You can never let him down, ever again.

Besides, without at least a bit of mascara, my eyelashes completely disappear.

And just a touch of eyeliner.

And maybe some concealer for those bags.

And a dab of benzoyl peroxide on that pimple.

Lip gloss? Sure why not; it’s moisturizing, and my lips chap really easily in this dry winter air, anyway.

Well, might as well round it out with some blush. Nothing fancy, just to add some contour.

I look a lot more presentable, at least, I decide as I survey myself in the mirror. Less like I haven’t been sleeping and more like a functional human person.

It’s nearing seven-thirty, so I grab a coat and my backpack, heading for the door. I make sure my house-key is tucked in my pocket before stepping out into the chilly morning. The sun is just above the horizon, and it’s a beautiful winter morning. I might appreciate the sight more if it wasn’t below freezing and actually pretty windy.

Crossing the small distance between my house and Peter’s, I pull the other key out of my pocket. After Uncle Ben passed, Aunt May had to take up a job to get some kind of income going. Harry stepped up and had his dad offer Aunt May a (rather overpaid, but don’t tell Peter or Aunt May) janitorial position at Oscorp, a cushy job with benefits and quarterly raises.

Say what you will about Norman Osborn, he can show a rather caring side when he wants.

However, with the lack of Aunt May to coax Peter out of bed every morning, that responsibility has fallen to me, so Aunt May gave me a spare house key and asked that I see that her nephew continues to get an education and not just sleep his days away.

I step into the house, shutting the door softly behind me and depositing my backpack by the door. Tossing my coat over a chair, I head for the stairs, climbing up and peeking into Peter’s room.

This is one my favorite times of the morning, but also the most heartbreaking. Peter always looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping. I know he watched me sleep once (for like…thirty seconds, so it’s not as creepy as it sounds), and now I can kind of see the appeal. There’s something really…intense about watching someone you love, _the_ one you love at their most peaceful and vulnerable. You get this powerful urge to protect them against everything the world throws at them, to beat back the demons and just…keep them absolutely safe.

Of course, I failed spectacularly at that right out of the gate, didn’t I? I got his uncle, the only father figure left in his life, killed.

Everyone wants to tell me it’s not my fault, but Peter wouldn’t have been running around SoHo if I hadn’t spilled my guts to him, and Uncle Ben would’ve never gone looking for him. If I hadn’t sent him running away, Uncle Ben wouldn’t have crossed paths with that getaway car.

If I hadn’t been so damn selfish, he wouldn’t have gotten run down in the street.

The worst part is, Peter blames himself. He says he saw the guy that ran into Uncle Ben robbing some gas station in SoHo and didn’t stop him. But he only did that because I was stupid and confused the hell out of him.

It’s a mess, obviously.

I move over to his bed and kneel down, peering closely at his face. His expression is so placid, carefree, so unlike when he’s awake.

This is the heartbreaking part.

“Pete,” I say softly, reaching out to brush a fringe of brown hair from his eyes. He’s really been letting it get long; it looks kind of cute this way. “Hey, wake up. Time to get ready for another day.”

His eyes flutter open, baby-blues taking me in before reality sets in, the crushing realization that life is currently not a whole lot of fun. He sighs and rolls onto his back, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up,” he says, and I give him a little smile.

“No way, Parker,” I say, reaching out. “I’ll leave the room, and you’ll just fall right back asleep.”

He rolls his eyes but gives me a tiny little smirk, reaching up to take my hand. “Take me away, Miss Widow.”

I pull him to his feet and smile at his apparent good mood this morning. “Good dreams?” I ask him, taking his hands in mine.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t even remember what I dreamed about, but I just…woke up happy or something, I guess.”

“Hey, that’s good,” I tell him, smiling and hugging him. “Okay, you go do your morning thing, and I’ll get you some breakfast?”

“I’m kinda just feeling cereal this morning,” he says with another shrug, stretching out.

“Super cereal?” I ask, smiling.

“Yeah, Gwen, I’m really super cereal right now,” he says. He starts to gather up some clothes to wear for the day, and the whole time he’s wearing another of those small smiles. I actually like that look most of all lately, because it’s not a forced expression. It may be little, but it’s genuine.

It’s a lot better than the fake smiles he would put on to keep up appearances a month ago.

“Go clean up your act,” I say, pointing to the bathroom. He heads that way, and I smile a bit as I make my way back downstairs.

It’s good that Pete’s feeling a bit better today. For the first few weeks after the accident, he was like a zombie, prone to random emotional outbursts and then just as randomly shutting back down. He actually had to start seeing the school counselor on an almost daily basis for a little while. I know he still blames himself for what happened, even though he should blame me. He’s too kind to do that, though. Heck, I’m thankful he’s still talking to me after what happened at that stupid party.

But that’s just something we don’t talk about.

I turn on the television in the living room and plop down to wait for Peter to make himself presentable, taking my phone out to check for texts.

**_From: Jessica_ **

_[did you wake up our prince yet?]_

**_To: Jessica_ **

_[yep, he’s in the shower]_

**_From: Jessica_ **

_[how is he?]_

**_To: Jessica_ **

_[I think today will be a good day.]_

**_From: Jessica_ **

_[good :) see you two at school.]_

Jess is actually really awesome; even after hearing the whole story about me spilling my heart to Pete and basically trying to steal him from her or…whatever my drunken mind thought would result from such a stupid decision, she’s still remained good friends, and if anything, trying to keep Pete from falling into complete and total depression has brought us closer together.

I’m about to text her back when something on the TV catches my attention.

“…Captain George Stacy had this to say about the incident.”

Dad’s on TV. He’s standing in front of the police station, looking irritated as he always does when a microphone is shoved in his face like this.

“The criminal known as the Vulture, as well as the entire group that call themselves the Superior Six, will not be allowed to run amok,” he says. “The NYPD isn’t called New York’s Finest for no reason. We will do everything we can to ensure that the citizens of this fine city can continue to rest easy at night.”

“But Captain,” a reporter asks, “with the Terrific Trio’s attention diverted to the growing conflicts overseas, can you apprehend these criminals without superhero assistance?”

Oh, that did it. The faux-genteel smile melts off Dad’s face, and his expression hardens.

“Listen, short of an alien invasion or foreign incursion, the NYPD can handle anything these whack jobs have to throw at us,” he says. “These men and women are New York citizens just like you and me, so they’ll be brought in by _us_. No more questions, I have a job to do.”

Dad’s not a fan of superheroes, _especially_ vigilante superheroes. It was funny listening to him rant about “those crazy kids that made a mockery of the whole police force” when we beat up Max Gargan for him.

Surprise, Daddy, that was me!

I hear footsteps on the stairs, and I stand, hurrying to intercept Pete at the bottom step, wrapping him in a hug and dragging him into the kitchen.

“Help, kidnap,” he says in a flat voice. I smile and push him into a chair.

“A hostage in your own home,” I say, heading for the pantry. “Hm, generic golden puff cereal, generic wheat square cereal, generic rice cereal, or generic fruit loop cereal?”

“Fruit loop, obviously,” Pete says, and I take the box out, tossing it over my shoulder. I hear him catch it effortlessly, grabbing some generic golden puffs for myself. I get some bowls from the cabinet while Pete leans over in his seat to pull the fridge open and retrieve the milk. It’s a little mundane, but we can’t be spider-powered about everything. I tried using my webs to get a bowl from the cabinet exactly once before.

I had to tell Aunt May we had the window open and a basketball came flying into the kitchen.

I don’t think she believed me.

In short order, cereal is poured, milk is added, and we fall into an easy silence as we eat. I’m just marveling at how well the morning is going so far when I look up and notice Peter’s gaze on the empty fourth chair at the table.

Uncle Ben’s chair.

He doesn’t say anything at all, just stares at the chair, quietly eating his cereal. His expression is thoughtful, contemplative, like he’s listening to someone speaking but only he can hear it. Quite suddenly, he glances over at me, blinking as if noticing me for the first time.

“Do you think we could like…go for a walk after school?” he asks. “We could head over to Flushing Meadows?”

“Pete, of course,” I say, smiling at him. “Jess, too?”

“Yeah, and maybe we could drag Harry along,” he says, smiling slightly. “I just hope it’s not too cold.”

“We can bundle up if it is,” I insist. “And come back to your place for hot cocoa.”

“With a hint of cinnamon and vanilla,” Pete says, his voice quietly wistful, and I stand up, hugging him around the shoulders before gathering up our bowls to rinse them out in the sink.

“Just like he used to make it,” I say softly, earning a nod from him. “Alright, we should go soon, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, shoes,” Pete says, standing and heading for the door.

“And coat!” I call after him as he ambles from the room. He makes his way back in, waving his coat at me before pulling it on. “Good boy.”

“Woof,” he mutters at me, and I giggle a bit, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over my shoulders.

“C’mon, boy, let’s go for a walk.”

 

The bus ride to school is quiet, Peter staring out the window, neglecting his phone as he’s wont to do lately.

I swear, the boy has like forty Facebook notifications that he hasn’t bothered with.

When we reach the school, Peter’s asleep, having dozed off against my shoulder. I take a moment to reflect on how the tables have turned before giving him a little nudge.

“Hey, we’re here, dozy,” I tell him, and he mutters a quick thanks as he stands, stretching and disembarking the bus.

“Turnabout is fair play or something, right?” he asks, and I smirk, poking him playfully in the back of the head.

We climb from the bus, and Jess is already waiting there. Smiling, she trots over to wrap Peter in a hug, giving him a tight squeeze and nestling into his neck. “Hey, you,” she says into his ear. I scan the area, finding Harry already heading toward us.

“How we doing?” he asks quietly as he nears us. I give him a little thumbs-up, which earns a smile.

“Oh,” I say as we all head for the school. “If the weather holds up, we should go to Flushing Meadows for a walk or something.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete says. “I was…thinking maybe it would be fun to just go for a walk, hang out?”

“And hot cocoa after, of course,” I say.

“I’m down for a walk in the park,” Harry says instantly.

“Same,” Jess says in a singsong voice. “That sounds awesome, Pete.”

Our reward is a small smile from Pete, who stares at his feet as we step into the building, and as we head for our lockers, he looks up and glances at us in turn.

“Um…you guys are good friends,” he says. “Thanks for…I mean, putting up with me.”

“Pete, no one’s ‘putting up’ with you,” Jess says, squeezing his hand. “We all love you and just wanna see you happy.”

He nods, and oh my gosh, I forgot how cute he looks with an actual smile and not the sad ghost of one he’s been wearing lately. I catch Jess’s eye, and she’s wearing a giddy smile of her own, happy at seeing such a sight, too.

How can I ever hate someone who obviously cares about Peter so much?

“Harry!” a new voice says, and we turn to see Mary Jane Watson, her mane of red hair flying behind her as she runs up to hug Harry tightly. “Hey guys.” She turns and surveys us, smiling when she sees the smile on Peter’s face.

MJ’s actually pretty alright.

“Oh, hey, Pete, can MJ come along after school?” Harry asks. “I mean…is that cool?”

“Where we going?” Mary Jane asks, looking at us all.

“Flushing Meadows,” Pete says with a sheepish little shrug. “Just for like a walk, to hang out.”

“Sounds awesome,” Mary Jane says. “Be nice to get outdoors, long as it’s not like…you know insanely cold.”

“Yeah, I mean, if it’s stupid-cold, we can postpone,” Pete says hurriedly. “But it’s been warm-ish all week, so…you know, why not?”

“We’ll see how it plays out,” I say. “If nothing else, we can all do _something_ and go to Flushing when it’s a bit warmer.”

“Yeah,” Pete says with a nod, smiling again. “It’d be nice to just…hang out.”

Soon enough, we have to head to class. As the day goes by, I’m glad to see the Peter’s good mood lasts most of the time. Once or twice, I see his smile fade to that little trying-to-keep-positive quirk of the lips he gets sometimes, and only once, it fades completely, but Harry quickly pulls damage control, doodling something I can’t see on his test and bumping Pete’s elbow to show it to him. Pete actually chuckles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Go, Harry! Way to step up.

Third period, as we’re all making our way to Study Hall, it happens. I blink as a buzzing starts to tickle the back of my head, and I instantly recognize it as what Peter dubbed our spider-sense. I look around, but I see nothing, just students milling around and walking by us.

“Gwen, are – “ Pete starts to ask me what’s wrong, but I can tell he feels it next, Harry shortly after.

“Something’s up,” I say, and Pete nods.

Then, in the distance, we hear crashing, screaming and yelling as the flow of the crowd shifts and starts pushing us away from the commotion. Flash Thompson comes hurtling through the crowd, stopping briefly when he reaches us.

“There’s some kind of…huge lizard thing!” he yells. “Run!”

I’m about to ask what exactly he means, but my spider-sense explodes in my head as the crowd hauls us away, and as we round a corner, I spot it.

“Oh, my God….”

It really is just a huge lizard thing, humanoid in shape but enormous, with thick, corded muscles and a long, swishing tail sticking out of its tattered clothes. Its elongated face fixes on us, and I swear it actually recognizes me for a moment.

“What the fuck…?” Harry asks as we’re dragged past the trophy case and toward the front door.

“What do we do?” I turn to ask…. “Pete? Pete!”

The giant lizard thing rounds the corner at a run, roaring when it sees us. It runs at us and lunges.

_THWIP-THWIP! THWIP-THWIP!_

Before it can reach us, it’s slowed and almost falls forward as its arms are wrapped in thick webbing. It snaps its muzzle, snarling and turning around to glare at its assailant, giving us a clear view of Peter Parker wearing his parkour gear, mask and all, pulling at the lizard’s arms.

“Excuse me, you must’ve gotten lost on the way to the lunch buffet or something!” he yells at the thing. “Students are friends, not food!”

The creature’s response is a gut-wrenching roar of outrage.

“Yeah, figured you’d say something like that,” Pete says. The lizard thing runs at him, swiping him with a huge clawed hand, but Peter leaps nimbly up to the wall behind him, pushing off and flying over the lizard’s head, landing behind him and incidentally wrapping him up in some more webbing.

_THWIP-TWHIP!_

I grab Harry’s arm, looking up at him intently. Around us, the hallway has emptied, no one caring to look back to see if we were following.

“Oh my—Harry, we have to – “

“Locker room!” he yells, dragging me toward the locker rooms. I pull myself away from the sight of Pete fighting something so dangerous and run to the locker rooms. He can handle this. He’s strong, fast, and smart. He can handle it for a minute while we get our own costumes on.

We reach the locker rooms, and with no time to be shy, we just start tugging away clothes.

Dad once told me that he tried to be a firefighter when he was young. He wanted to save people in a fairly direct way, running in, getting people that needed saved, running out, and containing the fire. He even joined the West Hamilton Beach VFD to help out. He quickly earned the nickname Quickchange, given to him with the utmost irony by his fellow firefighters.

Dad sucked at changing into his gear in a hurry, and the rest of the guys appreciated his fervor, but they suggested he find a different way of saving lives, maybe one where he wore the uniform all the time. So Dad swapped his hat for a badge, and the rest is history.

Apparently, I inherited the Stacy curse, because Harry’s dressed as I’m pulling my sweater on, tugging my mask and goggles over my head.

“If this is gonna be a thing, we need better costumes!” I yell as we run back into the hall just in time to see Peter Parker, one-time high school nerd, riding a giant lizard man with web-reins, steering it into walls at random.

He’s actually yelling “Yeehaw!”

“Guys, look out, there’s – “

Spider-sense! Harry and I leap as another claw rakes the air where we were standing seconds ago. I land on a nearby wall, and Harry grips to the ceiling, which immediately crumbles under his weight, dropping him to the floor. I stick a hand out as a second lizard man rears a claw up to rake him across the face.

_THAWP!_

I feel a sharp yanking in my arms as I hold on tight to the web, but with only one hand gripping onto the wall, as well as my feet, I’m yanked away by the force of the second lizard’s swing. My weight throws off its aim enough at least that Harry can dodge out of the way, but now I’m flying toward the lizard man, and he’s pretty upset with me, his snarling maw opening up, ready to take a bite out of me.

“Onward, Sugarcube!” Peter’s voice yells, and I’m momentarily amused at the sight of Spider-Man riding the first lizard, its eyes covered in webbing as it crashes into its scaly green counterpart. He intercepts my flightpath, grabbing me around the waist and leaping away to join Harry. The three of us gather ourselves as the lizards do the same, the one yanking the web away from its eyes.

“Pete, that was…unbelievable,” I say, giggling wildly as I turn to observe the lizards. “Um…game-plan? They’re recovering.”

“Gwen, your webbing is strongest,” Pete says. “Can you wrap them up?”

“Probably,” I say. “Yes, I will.”

“Okay, Harry, you and I run interference,” I say. “Pull aggro and trade it off.”

“I’ll tank, you off-tank,” Harry says.

“Moar dots,” they say in unison, prompting me to just shake my head.

“Get ‘em!” I yell, and as one, the lizards and my spider-boys charge.

_THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!_

Pete webs one around the ankles, and it’s enough to send it sprawling to the floor. Harry immediately leaps atop that one while Pete gives the same treatment to the other one.

_THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!_

“Widow, do it!” Harry yells, reaching down to grip his lizard on the shoulders. As soon as he does, though, something odd happens. The lizard shrieks in evident pain, staggering and slumping to the floor on its hands and knees. Its partner turns to Harry and bellows in rage, but I stick my arms out.

_THAWP! THAWP! THAWP-THAWP!_

My webbing is stronger than Pete’s, easy to cut but really difficult to rip through. The lizard man finds this out when his arms are pinned to his sides. He roars and snaps at us, but I web up his ankles next, and he overbalances, falling to the ground.

I run over to Harry, and Pete joins us, looking down at the other lizard, which is lying quite still. I pick up a large piece of shattered glass from the trophy case, handling it carefully as I hold it front of the lizard’s muzzle to check for breathing.

It snarls, and its hand gives a feeble twitch before my spider-sense shouts in my head to get out of the way. I leap back as it takes a wide swipe, staggering to its feet. Harry immediately runs up and grabs it from behind, yanking its arms behind its back. I hold out my hands to web it up once Harry gets free, but my spider-sense flares up again, and I leap out of the way just as the other lizard’s tail takes a swipe at my feet. He’s obviously not out of the fight yet despite being pinned.

_THWIP-THWIP!_

Thankfully, Pete hasn’t been idle this whole time, two webs impacting with the eyes of the lizard Harry is grappling with.

“Tarantula, do the finger thing again!” Pete yells. “Whatever you did to knock it out!”

“I don’t fucking know how I did it the first time!” Harry shouts back.

I sigh and hold out my wrists, aiming at the lizard’s legs.

_THAWP-THAWP!_

The lizard staggers and falls again, but I hear a crackling, ripping sound, jumping away as the already bound lizard near my feet starts to scoot forward, straining against my webs but having broken through Peter’s artificial ones. I leap over its back, firing a couple more webs at its legs to bind them up.

_THAWP-THAWP!_

_THAWP-THAWP!_

A final two webs bind the lizard Harry and Peter are attempting to pin, and things calm down again, hopefully for good this time. Catching our breath, we regroup and study the two downed creatures.

“Are we done?” I ask, and Pete exhales, shaking his head.

“Do you really think it would be that simple?” he asks. I slump against him, suddenly feeling exhausted from the ordeal.

 “So, giant lizard people are apparently a thing now,” Harry says with a shrug. “What do we do with them?”

“Foolsssssss.”

I freeze, looking at Harry and the Pete, who just shake their heads. As one, we look down at the lizards again to see one glaring at us.

“We were only the firssssst of many,” he says. “If you cut of one head…two more will take itssssss placcccce.”

The tail curls up, the tip pressing against the lizard man’s back, and a crisp beeping sound cuts through the still silence.

“Hail…Hydra.”

“Okay, run!” Pete says, and we all turn, dashing away as my spider-sense buzzes like crazy.

_Whump-BOOOOOM!_

I’m lifted off my feet as an explosion rips apart the hallway behind us. I’m flying for a moment before I connect with the floor, skidding a couple of yards along the smooth tiles before slowing to a halt. Crawling to my knees, I look around, trying to see the damage, but the hallway is thick with smoke and debris. I reach up to wipe my goggles.

“Harry?” I call into the dust. “Peter!?”

“Haha, you said hairy peter,” a voice says limply from next to me, and Pete materializes through the mist, standing and pulling me to my feet. “Tarantula!”

“Present,” Harry says, wrapping an arm around each of us. “We should make ourselves scarce. This place is probably gonna be pretty busy in about five minutes.”

“What do we do?” I ask. “I mean, if we go running out there _now_ , people will wonder what we were doing.”

“Hide in the bathroom,” Pete says, pointing to a nearby bathroom. “We just say we were scared and didn’t know what to do, so we just hid.”

“Vague enough to be plausible,” I say, shrugging and hurrying toward the bathroom. “We should definitely change out of our costumes, though.”

“Alright, let’s make it quick,” Pete says as we stumble into the bathroom. Once again, I’m the last one changed, staggering out of my stall just in time for Peter to drag me into the larger handicap one.

“We got scared and hid together,” he says as Harry follows us, crouching down onto the floor and plopping onto his butt. I do the same, hunching into myself, still shaking with adrenaline from the fight. “We heard the explosion and were too afraid to leave until someone came to find us.”

“I’d believe it,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, I’d believe that before I believe we just fought two mutated lizard guys.”

“Did you guys hear what they said?” Harry says. “Something about two more heads growing back?”

“He said ‘Hail Hydra’,” Pete says, glancing over at me. “Do you know what that is?”

“It’s…familiar,” I say, but I can’t for the life of me remember where I heard the phrase. “I mean, I know the hydra is something from like Greek or Roman mythology, but I don’t think he was being so literal.”

“Luckily,” Harry says from nearby, holding his phone out, “Harry has a phone with a satellite uplink, courtesy of Tony Stark. Googling.” He taps on the screen. “Okay, so Hydra was a…splinter group of the Nazis in World War Two. Led by some guy called the Red Skull, who literally had a red skull for a head, I guess.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Pete says. “He was one of the first ever actual supervillains.”

“Well, he still seems to have some fans,” I mutter. “This is…potentially pretty big, guys.”

“Yeah,” Pete agrees. “Think we should – “

The door suddenly opens, and we look up as a voice shouts into the bathroom.

“Is anyone in there!?”

“Time to sell it,” I whisper to Pete, standing up and bursting out of the bathroom stall, putting on my best “holy shit” face, which isn’t that tough.

“Hello!?” I yell toward the door. “Help, there’s some kind of giant lizard thing! We ran and hid, but we were too scared to move!”

 

“And the Oscar goes to…” Harry makes a show of pretending to open up an envelope and take out some paper. “Gwendolyne Stacy, get up here and get this thing.”

“Don’t forget your dedication speech,” Pete chuckles with a small smile over at me. I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at them.

“I can’t help it if I’m such a flawless actress,” I say loftily, bumping Pete with my shoulder as we head up the elevator to the Osborn penthouse.

The school did a head count of students, finding no one missing, thankfully, and contacted as many parents as they could. Dad, of course, was on the scene already, so I just asked him if I could go back to Harry’s place with the boys. He quickly agreed after a short call from Norman Osborn, who personally assured Dad that he would let May Parker know that her nephew was safe and sound. Mary Jane’s mother insisted she come back to her aunt’s house, while Jess was under similar lock-and-key from her own mother and father. We’re free to go, however.

Hooray for absentee parental figures.

That’s not nice; Dad does his best, and Aunt May obviously cares about Peter more than life itself. Norman Osborn even seems to have his own son’s best interests at heart, though he’s not great at showing it.

In any case, we enter the fortress of solitude with a quiet ding, the elevator opening and depositing us in that familiar hardwood-floored entryway, where we quickly doff our shoes and coats.

“Food?” Harry asks.

“Pizza,” Peter and I exclaim at the same time, turning to each other and smirking. I hug Pete and drag him into the living area while Harry just rolls his eyes and pulls out his cellphone, dialing up the nearby pizza place. Counting on him to remember our usual order, I shove Pete onto the couch we shared for our spider-bite-induced nap a lifetime ago, settling in next to him. Across the room from us, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows let in the afternoon sun, showing us the Manhattan skyline from dozens of stories up. In front of the windows sit a freestanding gas fireplace that is currently burning away, warming the area around it, which sports a rug and several seats. There’s no television, Norman Orsborn apparently going for aesthetic over function, though Harry’s room is equipped with a massive television of its own, so we get by.

Ah, sacrifices.

“Today was pretty intense,” Pete says, though his expression is oddly placid for such a statement.

“We did a good thing, though, I think,” I tell him. “Those things could have hurt a lot of people if we hadn’t stopped them.”

Pete nods, smiling over at me. “Yeah,” he says, “we…we really saved a lot of people. We did…. I mean, no one else would’ve been able to do what we did. And we stepped up and….”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say, and I do. If any well-meaning student had tried to hold off the lizard guys, they would’ve been ripped to shreds in seconds, but we used our abilities, abilities no one else has, and held them off, even forced them to play their trump card. No one’s going to be questioning them anytime ever, but at the very least, we stopped them.

“Gwen…we…we’re strong,” Pete says, as though he’s just realizing it himself. “I mean…we’re not just like enhanced, we’re actually super. We’re powerful.”

“We are,” I agree, smiling over at him. “Pete, what are you getting at?”

“Pizza in twenty-five!” Harry says, stepping into the room just in time to see Pete standing and starting to pace. “Woah, are we doing intense stuff?”

“We might be,” I say. “Pete, what’s up?”

Pete turns to us, and I’ve never seen him look so…determined before. “Guys…I think we’re meant to be superheroes,” he says. “We’re an amazing team, and we have powers that complement each other perfectly. We handled those lizard things really well, and…I just feel like we’re meant for something more than parkour videos on YouTube or something.”

“You wanna actually do the superhero thing?” Harry asks. “Like…another Terrific Trio?”

“Well, not quite as global,” Pete says. He shakes his head and turns, striding to the huge windows and looking out at the skyline. “I mean…you’ve seen those guys on the news, the Superior Six. The Terrific Trio has enough going on overseas; they can’t clean up New York from a bunch of idiots with some fancy gadgets. And that guy, that…Daredevil? He’s just focusing on Hells’ Kitchen. But New York needs…help. They need us.”

“Pete…you’re talking about…actual life-and-death stuff,” I say, biting my lip. But then again, is it any different from what Dad does? He puts on his badge and goes to work fighting bad guys because he knows it’s the right thing to do.

Why shouldn’t I do the same?

“Gwen,” he says, turning to face us, glancing first at me and then Harry. “Guys. I feel like…I _have_ to do this. You don’t…. I had the chance to be what these people need before, and I didn’t take it, and….”

He trails off, and I finally realize the source of his fervor. He’s trying to atone, to make things right after the horrible business with that robber that ended up killing Uncle Ben.

I stand and join him by the window, wrapping him in a hug and squeezing him tightly. He’s gotten so much taller than me in the past few months; I’m able to tuck my head under his chin if he tilts his head up just right, nestling against his collarbone.

“If this is something you really wanna do,” I tell him, “I’ll help you every step of the way. I think New York could use some help.”

“Hey, I’m in, too,” Harry says, like it should be expected. “But I wanna wear a bodycam and get some sick footage of us playing vigilante. We are _going_ to be YouTube stars if it’s the last thing I do on this Earth.”

Pete smiles at us, which blooms into a full-blown grin. “Awesome,” he says. “Guys…thank you. And if you wanna back out at any time, I won’t – “

“Pete, we’re not leaving you to do this on your own,” I tell him. “I know you, if we _do_ back out, you’ll just keep fighting the good fight without us, and I will not let you go against New York’s worst on your own.”

“I…fair enough,” Pete says, smiling warmly at me, and I have to yell at my heart to stop fluttering at that look. His attention turns to Harry; the largest member of our group has his hand in the air. “Yes, Harry?”

Harry lowers his hand, looking plainly at Pete. “Are we gonna have to wear like spandex tights and stuff? Because like…I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Pete dissolves into a fit of laughter, and I have to join in, unable to _not_ imagine Harry and his “gains” wrapped in spandex. I can’t deny that the slightly sexist part of me would not mind at all seeing such a fine specimen wrapped in skintight clothing.

Of course, the much more vocal part of me that is madly in love with Peter Parker has other thoughts about such things….

Nope, nope, Gwen. Be good.

“It would make costume changes simpler,” Pete says. “We’ll think about it.”

“Already am,” I say before I can stop myself. Pete smirks and lets a small snort, and Harry busts out laughing.


	15. Chapter 15

The next day, school is cancelled while cleanup crews fix up the damage from the bomb, and some guys from OSHA make sure the building is still fit for educational purposes. Dad, for a change, is home for breakfast, and I feel bad for all of twenty seconds before I realize Pete will probably just sleep in and be ready for me to drag him out of bed whenever I get over there. And I get to spend quality time with Dad.

In tremendously awkward silence, because Dad could walk into a chat between Winston Churchill and Martin Luther King Jr. and make both of them struggle to pick a topic.

“So…any leads on who attacked the school?” I ask, looking up at him as we both eat up some oatmeal I prepared on the stovetop. Dad just shrugs, but something in my expression must convey how desperate I am for some form of communication, because he takes a drink of milk before speaking.

“Most of it is classified information,” he says, “but we have reason to believe that whoever did it was no amateur. I imagine you’ll hear this anyway, so I don’t feel bad telling you that we had a lot of eyewitness reports of a giant…lizard man.”

“Lizard man?” I ask, once against busting out my acting chops, or what passes for them, to look the part of confused but eager to hear more. “Actually, I remember Flash Thompson saying something like that.”

“Well, I’d normally think something like that was just the heat of the moment talking,” Dad says, “impressionable minds cooking up something sensational to tell their friends. But we’ve had at least fifty students come forward with the same story, so I have to think at the very least it was some guy in a very convincing lizard costume.”

“With some kind of bomb,” I say, and Dad sighs.

“That upgraded this from a simple incident to full-on domestic terrorism,” he mutters. “The FBI wants to get involved on this one, and I’ve been fighting them off as much as I can.”

“You don’t want the help?” I ask.

“I don’t want a bunch of government suits getting in my way and shunting me to the side,” he says. “If they can figure out who’s behind this, so much the better, but in my experience, the higher up the chain you go, the longer things take to get done. You get the government involved, we’re talking months instead of weeks.”

“But Dad,” I say, remembering the words of the one lizard man before he blew himself to smithereens, “what if this is actually some kind of terrorist thing?”

Dad turns to me with a smile, reaching out to take my shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Gwen,” he says, “I can assure you, no international terrorist organization is going to go after a Manhattan high-school. There are plenty of bigger fish to fry.”

Part of me is bursting to tell him about the lizard man’s dying words about Hydra, but that would open up so many questions from him, questions I’m just plain not ready to answer.

“Just…don’t be shy about letting other people help you.”

He just gives me a warm smile, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from my face.

“What have I always told you?” he asks me. “Pride goeth before a fall.”

“Proverbs, right?” I ask, and he just nods.

“I can never remember the specifics, but it was something your grandpa always said to me,” he says. “Never be too proud to accept help.”

“Even from like a vigilante?” I ask, before I can help myself. “Like a superhero?”

“That’s…somewhat different,” Dad says, taking a drink of his coffee. “Some of these supers, they…they don’t understand that sometimes there’s more to fighting crime than just catching a bad guy and delivering him to the cops all wrapped up tight. That bad guy could lead the police to more of his friends, and instead of just locking up one creep, we catch all of his friends and stop a whole crime ring. That’s why I’m glad we don’t have any here in New York.”

Well…not yet, Dad. Still, that bit about following criminals to more criminals is interesting. I’ll have to let Pete know about that. Speaking of which….

“Well…I should probably go wake Peter up,” I tell Dad, standing and gathering up our empty bowls. “Poor kid’s probably starving.”

Dad just nods, smiling at me as I deposit our bowls in the sink.

“I’m proud of you for helping him through this tough time,” he tells me. He stands and heads for the hooks near the door to grab his jacket. “I’m sure he needs a friend after what he’s been through.”

“You off to the station?” I ask him.

“Yep,” he says, pushing his arms into his coat. “We might have a break in this Black Cat case. She might just be the sixth member of the Superior Six.”

“Well, at least they’re equal opportunity employers,” I say, smirking, and Dad just snorts.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad to know they get the Gwen Stacy seal of approval,” he says, making his way over and leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Enjoy your day off, hon.”

“Be safe,” I call after him as he leaves. I spend a few minutes after his exit cleaning up around the kitchen, starting the dishwasher and generally making sure the place isn’t a wreck after my preparation of the oatmeal. That stuff has a tendency to harden into cement-like blocks of gunk if you don’t clean it up right away.

I’m just about to head over to Pete’s when the doorbell rings. I pause as I’m pulling on my coat, sticking my hand through the sleeve and heading for the door. I peek out and see a very familiar head of ginger hair, reaching to pull the door open to see Jess standing there. From the puffy redness around her eyes and morose expression, she’s been crying. As soon as she sees me, she sniffs and steps forward, wrapping me in a hug.

“Jess…?” I look down at her, instinctively returning the hug. “What’s up?”

“Gwen…” she says, her voice quiet and hoarse. “Gwen, my…my dad, he asked his boss for a transfer to…some place in Ohio.”

I blink at her, taking a moment to process this. “Jess, what do you mean?”

“I’m…I’m moving,” she says, her voice quiet but intense, gaining speed as she builds up a frantic head. “Next week, we’re…we’re packing everything away and…Gwen, we’re leaving. Dad can’t handle living in a city where supervillains are attacking things every other week. He’s just gonna…pack us all away like his luggage and drag us three states away to live in some stupid little rural area, and…Gwen, what do I tell Pete? How am I…I can’t leave him! I don’t wanna leave him, Gwen!”

I stare at her for a moment as the words sink in, pulling her back in for another hug.

Fuck.

This complicates things.

 

“He’s really set on this?” I ask Jess as we walk over to Peter’s house.

“The transfer is already in,” Jess says morosely. “They’re calling the school tomorrow to…withdraw me. “My first day at my new school is Monday. Gwen, he’s gonna be heartbroken. And he was doing so much better. I think he was finally coping with…with what happened.”

We step onto Peter’s porch, and I take out the spare key to let us in. I step back to let Jess in, feeling my heart break when I see that she’s actually crying.

“Oh, Jess,” I sigh, pulling her into another hug. “Maybe you can…do like a long-distance thing?”

She shakes her head. “It would just be more painful, I think,” she says. “Peter needs someone here, to be with him and…stay by his side, now more than ever.”

 We reach his bedroom door, and I turn to Jess, wondering if she’s implying what I think. “What are you saying?”

“I…I’m gonna break things off with him,” she says, her voice sounding utterly miserable. “He’ll be…. He’ll probably be upset for a little while, but he’ll have you. You still love him.”

It’s not even a question; she sounds so sure of herself. “I…that – “

“You still love him,” she says, enunciating each word, and I just sigh.

“Well, of course,” I admit. Are we really talking about this?

“If…something happens between you two,” she says, clenching her hands into fists, “I want you to go for it. Take care of him.”

Before I can say anything, she reaches for Pete’s door, opening it and stepping inside. On his bed, Peter seems to be drowsily waking up, sleepily staring his phone screen. The phone goes flying, and he jumps as we barge in, blinking up at Jess and then me.

“Jeez, I’m being invaded,” he says with a bemused expression. “Or am I still dreaming?”

“Oh, fuck off, perv,” I grumble, and he just smiles.

“Nah, I’m awake,” he says, looking behind me and furrowing his brow. “Jess? You alright?”

“Allergies,” Jess says, smiling at him. “You’ve never seen me before the Benadryl kicks in.”

“Huh,” he says, shrugging. “Um, I gotta do my morning stuff, so….”

“Yeah, let’s make some breakfast, and…and then,” I look over at Jess, who nods resolutely.

“And then I have something to tell you,” she says.

 

The worst thing about Peter’s reaction is how…non-reactionary it is. He just gives a few subdued nods throughout the whole thing, staring down at his lap with a completely blank expression. When Jess is done speaking, the two just sit there, Pete staring down at his knees while Jess stares at him.

I’m just watching from the next room, like a shameless peeping Tom.

“Peter?” she asks softly after a few moments. “I…say something.”

“Like what?” he asks in a dull, hollow voice. “Things were going so awesome for like…a day. And now this.”

Jess scoots over and wraps him a hug, holding tightly to him. “Hey,” she says after a moment. “Remember…when you told me about Chaos Theory? How our lives are like the result of a bunch of totally random events that all happen because of more random events and…I’m sorry, I’m not as good as you at words.”

Pete chuckles a bit, but he nods. “I remember.”

“Well…I like to think that gives me hope,” she says. “Maybe this one bad thing will result in a lot of good. Maybe my dad will stop being an idiot and make the next breakthrough in medical science, or…this will be what Phil needs to become a football sensation.”

“That’s great and all,” Pete says, “but…I don’t want you to leave.”

“Oh, Pete,” Jess says, squeezing him tighter. “A speedbump. I promise, in a few months, a year, maybe, that’s all you’ll call it. And we’ll still have Skype, texts, Facebook, I mean…we’ll keep in touch.”

“Just…not as boyfriend and girlfriend,” he says, looking up at Jess, and I try to shut up the small leaping sensation I get in my chest when I hear that.

This isn’t exactly a barrel of laughs for the love of my life.

“Peter, you don’t need a long-distance relationship,” Jess says. “Not with what you’re going through, not now. You need someone that can give you the attention you need, that you deserve.”

“You make me sound like some kind of special case or something,” Pete mumbles.

“You know what I mean,” Jess says in a soft but firm voice. “You lost someone close to you, and there’s this…craziness with your new powers. You need someone to…stay with you. And I want you to be able to do that without any doubts about being faithful or anything. Because I know you, you would feel bad if you felt like you were getting too close to someone while I’m locked away in Ohio. So…this is me setting you free.”

“But I don’t wanna be free,” Pete mumbles. “I don’t want you to leave, I don’t…. I’m tired of everything going all crazy.”

“I know, I know,” Jess says, sighing. “But that’s kind of life, isn’t it? You think I’m happy that my paranoid dad is uprooting my entire life and dragging me to backwoods-ass Ohio?”

I smile when I hear Pete chuckle a bit at that. Jess, you’re pretty great.

“Of course not,” he says.

“Of course not!” Jess agrees, hugging him. “But…shit happens. It’s the nature of things. But I’m gonna make the best out of it, and I want you to do the same thing. I wanna see the Pete I got a huge crush on because I loved how quiet and nerdy and clever he was in those YouTube videos. I wanna get those texts that just…make me laugh because you’re such an adorkable little dweeb. And I wanna see the kinds of Facebook statuses that I loved reading when I back-stalked you like a creep.”

“You did that, too?” Pete asks, his voice hoarse.

“I think it’s like a rule when you start dating someone,” Jess says, giggling softly.

There’s silence for a moment, and I take another peek into the room to see them just hugging together on the couch. Pete looks up with shining eyes, and we lock gazes for a moment.

Oh my gosh, Pete, I just wish I could rewind back to the first day of school all over again and make this all right for you.

Jess looks up as well, smiling at me.

“Wanna just chill here all day and be lazy?” she asks the two of us. “If that’s okay, Pete?”

“Yeah,” he says, sighing and managing a small smile. “Yeah, I think that sounds good.”


	16. Chapter 16

School is canceled for the week; apparently, the lizards damaged the electrical system and the plumbing, and they even called in the FBI _and_ SHIELD to do a full sweep of the building for every kind of potentially harmful anything.

This gave Pete plenty of time to spend a final week with the girl he’s in love with.

No, I’m not talking about myself.

Aunt May says it’s just puppy love, that Jess and Pete felt a lot of intense feelings for the first time together.

“They’ve never known what it’s like to be in love, so this first time, their minds are still trying to wrap themselves around the concept of caring so deeply for someone else,” she tells me one night while Peter walks Jess to the bus stop. “Everything is so new to them, it feels like there’s too much. Mix in a dash of puberty, and it’s like the Titanic, Romeo and Juliet, and the Notebook all rolled into one.”

“That’s…actually very well-said,” I say, giggling a bit. Aunt May just smiles wistfully.

“I was married to a rather charismatic man for quite a long time,” she says. “I have no doubt Ben would do everything he could to keep Peter’s mind off of this. Actually, he would probably just shove him on over to your house and tell you to go out and do ‘whatever is you kids do’.” She leans in, fixing me with a warm, caring smile. “I can’t thank you enough for helping Peter through all of this. If he didn’t have you and Harry, I don’t even want to think about what state he would be in.”

“I’ll always be there for Pete,” I say earnestly, trying to convey just how much I mean the words. “I…I let him down once, and look what happened.”

Aunt May shakes her head. “Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy, I’ve told you to stop thinking like that,” she says in a gentle but firm voice. “What happened to Ben was no one’s fault but that criminal’s. You and Peter may have acted a bit impulsively, but that man is the one that…cut Ben’s life so short. He chose to do the wrong thing. Neither of you could have known what would happen, but he did, and he chose to be irresponsible.”

Warmth blooms in my chest, and I just stare at my knees, trying not to start crying, because I’ve doing entirely too much of that lately. I’m saved from trying to respond by the door opening.

“There he is,” Aunt May says. “You should’ve been home ten minutes ago. Was the bus late?”

“Uh, yeah,” Pete says. “Sorry, Aunt May.”

“Well, you’re here now, so I’m going to go up to bed,” Aunt May says, standing and kissing me on the cheek. She goes over to Peter, leaning in and tapping her cheek. Pete obligingly dips down to kiss her in the indicated spot, and she hugs him. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t you two stay up too late.”

“Promise, Aunt May,” Pete says. “Five in the morning, at the latest.”

“You’re just too funny,” Aunt May mutters, heading for the stairs. When her creaking footsteps fade and her bedroom door closes, I hurry over.

“What happened?” I ask in a low voice. “Jess texted me that she was on the bus fifteen minutes ago.”

“Carjacking,” Pete mutters. “Right out in the open, too. I only had time to get my headgear on, but at least I didn’t damage the car…much.”

I sigh, smiling at him and pulling him into a hug. “Well, I’m sure you made someone’s day.”

Pete chuckles a bit as he pulls a card out of his pocket. “Yeah, Mick Casey, tattoo artist. Said he’d give me a freebie if I wanted, no questions asked.”

“Oh, tattoo,” I say. “Sexy.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I want to blow my cover before we’ve even gotten fully started,” Pete says, stepping into his room and turning on his light. He moves over and flops onto his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. I sit next to him, reaching down to tousle his hair.

“How are you?” I ask softly, peering down at him. He just shrugs.

“I’m…trying not to think about it too much,” he says. “I’m just…enjoying my week and working on our costumes. Jess is loving helping design mine. Says it’ll be like…leaving her mark on the city.”

I just smile at him, not sure what to say. There’s nothing _to_ say, really. Jessica, his girlfriend, his first romance, is leaving, moving several states away, and there’s really nothing to be done about it. So I reach over, turn on some music, and continue playing with his hair, smiling down at this boy that means the world to me.

“Do you know why I wanted to go to Flushing Meadows?” Pete asks after a few minutes of listening to some of the emo indie music he’s been into lately.

“Nuh-uh,” I say softly. “Tell me?”

“It…on my sixth birthday, Aunt May and Uncle Ben asked what I wanted for my birthday,” he says. “I told them ‘I want Mom and Dad to come home’, because I just…didn’t understand that they were dead or something, I guess.”

Oh, Pete….

“So, Uncle Ben loads me up in his car, and he says we’re gonna go to the park,” Pete continues. “I’m thinking, ‘Yes, we’re gonna go meet Mom and Dad at the park’, so I’m amped the whole car ride there. We get there, and…I remember it was Flushing Meadows, and I remember he bought me this big cinnamon bun from some kind of food truck. We walk around for a bit, and Uncle Ben basically…he tells me that my parents were really smart people, just like me. He says they were brilliant, and they had to go somewhere really far away to help people because they could come up with things and do things a lot of other people couldn’t.

“And…I’m like, ‘But what about me?’, and Uncle Ben…he says that my parents loved me very much, and they wanted to create a better world for me to grow up in, even if that meant that they couldn’t be around. But there were lots of bad men out there, and some of those bad men…killed my parents. They made them…go away so they could never come back. I remember…I remember asking Uncle Ben, why did they leave? If they knew there were bad people that could kill them, why would they still go? And Uncle Ben says…because they knew they had to. My parents…they had the power to change the world. And…Uncle Ben told me that people with those kinds of abilities…they should _use_ them. It’s like…an imperative. If you can change things for the better, you _must_. With great power, there must also come great responsibility.”

“You’re talking about us, aren’t you?” I ask softly, smiling down at him.

He nods.

“I…when we were fighting the lizards, after we got blasted by that bomb, I just…suddenly remembered it.”

“I’m sure you’re making your parents proud,” I say. “And Uncle Ben.”

“I’m just…I’m sick of people being taken from me,” he says.

“Pete, I will never leave you, I promise,” I tell him. “I won’t _let_ anyone take me from you. I love you too much to let that hap – “ I stop and bite my lip. No, no, I let an L-bomb slip, damn it.

Pete just gives me a sad sort of smile. “I know,” he says, and I just tap him playfully on the chest. Keep it lighthearted; play it off.

“Alright, Han Solo,” I say with a rueful smile. “Wanna get some work done on the costumes? We have a few hours.”

Peter sighs but sits up. “Yeah, I need to finish up the web pattern anyway.”

“Yours has a lot of black,” I point out. “Don’t you wanna add some color?”

Pete shrugs. “There’ll be some red and blue,” he says, “but…Jess thought it would look good with mostly black.”

I smile over at him. “Well, that’s good enough for me.”


	17. Chapter 17

She leaves on Friday morning.

Pete heads over a couple hours before the rest of us, and when Harry and I get there, Harry towing along a sympathetic Mary Jane, the star-crossed lovers come downstairs, both of them looking like they’ve been doing some crying. Flash even shows up as we’re all saying our goodbyes, hugging a sobbing Phil around the shoulders and handing the boy one of his old jerseys.

“Keep your chin up, little man,” he says. “Take care of your sister.”

Aw, Flash Thompson really is a big softie.

Pete…. Poor Pete looks like his chest is being crushed the entire time. Jess clings to him for as long as possible, but soon enough, Mr. Cambell sighs and opens the car door, fixing Jess with a stern look.

“C’mon, Jessica,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

Jess pulls Peter in for one last hug, squeezing him tightly.

“I’ll keep in touch,” I hear her whisper into his ear. “Promise me. Texts and e-mails every day, Skype every weekend, we like all of each other’s Facebook statuses. All of the stupid shit.”

“Promise,” Pete says hoarsely. “All of it. Promise.”

“I love you, Pete,” she whispers, kissing him one last time. She glances over at me, her expression intense.

“Take care of him,” she mouths, and I nod.

And then Jessica Cambell is climbing into the car, peering out the window as her father starts up the engine. They back out of the driveway and pause briefly enough for Jess to lean across her brother for one last morose wave.

Then they’re gone, down the street, fading into the distance.

“Shit, that was just too feelsy for me,” Flash says. “You guys wanna come by my place, play some vidya, take our minds off it?”

“I…I think I just wanna be alone for a little while,” Pete says in a mumble.

“Pete….” I turn to him, not sure what to even say to him.

“Gwen, I’ll…I’ll be fine, I just need to not really be around anyone for a while,” he says.

I nod. “You call me if anything comes up.”

 

All day, I try to give him his space. All day.

Well, all morning.

Two hours.

By noon, I’m just worried he might not be taking a break. My spider sense has been tingling faintly all day, and I’ve been in my room doing nothing particularly dangerous. I’ve texted Harry a few times to ask what he’s up to, but he’s with MJ doing who-knows-what.

Which leads me to believe two things.

First, my spider sense probably has a sympathetic reaction to my two spider-boys’ when theirs go off.

Second, Peter is putting himself in a lot of danger over the course of the two hours I leave him to his own devices.

Unable to bear it for much longer, I pull on my recently-finished costume, a mostly black affair with some red over the chest and a blue web pattern. I designed it to be fairly similar to Pete’s, out of a team unity thing, though his has a blue chest with a red web pattern.

I like color coordination; sue me.

It takes me about a quarter of an hour to find him, because the buzzing doesn’t have much of a GPS function, it seems. It just gets strong the closer I get to him.

My own personal Peter tracker. How lovely.

He’s in Manhattan, though from the web-trail I find, he’s been all over the city, starting out in Harlem and working his way over. Crouching on a rooftop, I just watch as he lays into a group of thugs mugging some young couple on a date. He doesn’t need my help; he’s actually really good. Not as fast as I am, but he definitely has more finesse than Harry.

“The Mario”, as he calls himself. Balanced in every stat.

No, he doesn’t need my help, but…it feels better, to be able to see him, to know he’s handling himself, and that I _can_ help him, if he _does_ need it.

“Ah!”

He needs my help.

Without even thinking, I leap from the side of the building, and there’s the indescribable sensation of free-falling into the open air, that gut-churning excitement, and I remember why Peter was so happy when he figured out his web-shooters.

_THAWP!_

I swing down, seeing Peter dodging a series of slashes from a guy with a knife, but he was just caught by surprise; no doubt his spider-sense was overloaded with danger from every angle, and he just didn’t notice Sharpie in time.

Still, that leaves him open to that mean-looking guy with a baseball bat behind him….

_Kick-Crunch!_

“Gah! There’s two of ‘em!”

“Yeah, one of you must have a coupon!” I say, skidding to a halt. “I wanna see your membership cards after this, you all get a hole punched!”

“Hey, I’m supposed to have the jokes!” Peter yells.

“Share,” is all I say, feeling the faint buzz in my skull. “Behind you.”

Pete leaps as the knife guy recovers from his shock, swinging wildly, and I reach out to web his knife away from him, yanking it from his grasp and catching it. Pete socks him solidly on the back of the head, and he drops to the floor. Behind him, another two guys loom, one holding a metal tire-iron, the other a knife. My sympathetic spider-sense is going off, and I can already see Pete tensing and ready to jump out of the way. My own _actual_ spider-sense buzzes as he’s jumping, and I whip around to see a guy lunging at me with a crackling Taser. I spin out of the way, grabbing the wrist holding the weapon, and twist.

Hard.

_Snap!_

Okay, so I broke his wrist, but it’s a _Taser_! The guy howls in pain, stumbling forward and clutching his wrist.

“You crazy bitch, you broke my wrist!”

“Yeah, that was sort of the idea, dumbass,” I say, webbing up his legs and watching him trip as he tries to stagger away. “Maybe think about that next time you decide you want to tase someone, hm?”

He falls and knocks his head on a wall, dropping to the ground.

I turn to Pete to see him standing over the unconscious forms of his own attackers, and we gaze at each other for a moment.

“I had it,” he says, and I can’t help but smile at how cute and sullen he sounds.

“I know,” I tell him, stepping closer. “But I heard you yell and…kinda just reacted.”

“Well…thanks for worrying,” he says, looking up as we hear sirens in the distance. “We should probably – “

“Yeah.”

We hurry up the wall to the rooftop, Peter reaching up and tugging his mask off…with his left hand? Only then do I notice how he’s gingerly holding his right arm. I hurry over and pull my own mask away, looking up at him.

“Arm,” I say, trying for a stern frown, but I already know I’m just pouting, because he smiles and holds the arm out. There’s a clean cut in his suit, and underneath, a somewhat deep gash that’s bleeding pretty badly. “Oh my gosh, Pete!”

“It’s not as painful as it looks,” he says.

“We need to get you home and clean it, at least, so it doesn’t get all infected,” I insist, and he just shakes his head.

“We can still help – “

“Peter Benjamin Parker, if you think helping means getting tetanus and having to swing around with one arm, you need a CAT scan,” I tell him, pulling him in the general direction of Queens. “Do I have to knock you out and carry you home?”

“I would pay to see that,” he says, laughing a bit before sighing and looking out over New York. “Alright, fine. I used up almost all my web stuff anyway. I need to start carrying extras around.”

“Do you need to start wearing a utility belt?” I ask with a small laugh.

“Oh, gross,” he says, shaking his head and pulling his mask back on. “Only thing worse than that would be a fanny pack.”

Suddenly, I can’t seem to stop imagining Pete in his full Spider-Man gear with a matching black fanny pack, and I burst into giggles.

“With a matching little spider logo and everything!” I say, and he walks over and shove me playfully.

“You are insane,” he says. “Just because some of us have to _make_ our webs – “

_Creeeaaaak-CRASH!_

That’s just never a good sound.

“What was – “

_Ker-THOOOOOM!_

The air around us shudders with an explosion, and we dash to the edge of the building just as…something comes running out. Something absolutely huge. As we watch, it ducks and charges a car, sending it flying and rolling into a wall.

“That’s the Rhino,” Pete says in an awed voice. “Damn, he’s even bigger in person.”

The Rhino is huge. Easily twenty feet tall, he’s a cybernetic mass of cables, synthetic muscle, armor plating, and blinking lights that probably have some kind of purpose. He’s vaguely humanoid in shape, but I’ve heard rumors that he can shift his parts around so he actually runs on all fours like an actual rhino. Supposedly, he was once human, but he’s had so many parts added and augmented that he’s more machine than man, Darth Vader style. Today, he seems to be the muscle of a heist, as he has a large crate tucked under his even larger arm.

“Isn’t he one of the Superior Six?” I ask. “Where there’s one, there’s usually – “

“ _Two_ more, in fact,” a new voice says, and we turn to see what looks for all intents and purposes like a robot panther. My spider-sense is buzzing faintly, but the creature just shifts, fixing glowing yellow eyes on us, tail lashing behind him. “What are two little spiders doing around these parts? Vigilante escapades?”

The panther-bot shifts, and with a quiet whirring, he’s suddenly standing on two legs, his shoulders shifting and drooping as his spine straightens out, head whirring to perch on top of his shoulders instead of in front of them. Now looking much more like some kind of robo-were-panther, he looks over his shoulder, in the direction of the sirens on the way to apprehend the muggers. My spider-sense buzzes even louder, and I reach over to take Pete’s hand.

“Ah, you’ve drawn the police,” he says, sounding quietly amused. “Otto will be pleased, at least. He claims to be in this for the science, but it’s all just pageantry, theatrics. He loves the attention, the little narcissist. Shame he isn’t here today.”

“You’re the Jackal,” Pete says, and the panther man tilts his head, his feline ears twitching a bit.

“Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,” he says, chuckling. “Most people remember Otto, or dear Aleksei, in his ardor. I must confess myself flattered, little spiders. Quite a shame I shall have to kill you.”

My spider-sense clangs loudly, and Peter and I watch as the Jackal lunges at us, claws extending from his fingers, paw-hands outstretched at us. Pete leaps to the left, and I jump to the right as the Jackal flies past us and lands nimbly on the edge of the roof. Below us, the Rhino is rampaging, throwing cars around like toys while the police fire ineffectively at his metal body.

“Pe—Spider-Man, we have to stop the Rhino!” I say, leaping as the Jackal lunges at me again, and the cat-man-robot-thing actually looks a little confused at how fast I move. I sail over the side of the building, seeing Peter nearby.

_THWIP!_

_THAWP!_

As one, we descend into the chaos of the streets, a cacophony of sirens, yelling, gunshots, and the sound of the Rhino’s boisterous laughter. Landing against a wall, Pete and I glance at each other, and I feel a faint buzzing. The Jackal is still lurking above us.

“You’re faster,” Pete says. “Can you handle the Jackal while I try to take down the bruiser?”

“Yeah, but remember, Jackal said there were three and Doc Ock isn’t around,” I tell him. “We could have Black Cat, Scorpion, or Vulture around.”

“Got it,” Pete says.

“Be careful,” I say as I leap away from the wall, my head buzzing as Jackal lands right where I was. Pete departs with a quick shot of webbing at the cat-man’s eyes before tackling the Rhino. Tearing my attention away from them, I turn to the Jackal, who is back in feline form, crouching low on a metal garbage container that’s crumpled under his weight. His tail lashes left and right as he shifts his paws.

“I rather hope you survive this fight,” he says, his voice fervent as he shifts, readying for a pounce. My spider-sense is a constant buzz in the back of my head with all the danger around me, and behind me I can hear the sounds of the Rhino roaring furiously. “To have a nemesis would be so exciting!”

He jumps, and I realize how smart it was for Pete to let me handle this guy; he really is fast. I almost can’t leap out of the way in time, his claw just grazing my calf as I sail over his head, turning and holding my wrists out.

_THAWP-THAWP!_

I web up the area around his hind paws, and his next leap only carries him a scant few feet, a frustrated snarl escaping his throat.

“What is this!?” he shouts, pulling uselessly, but my webs have yet to meet a force that can break them.

Cutting them is another story, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m a girl of many talents,” I say, dashing up and delivering a kick straight up to his jaw.

Ow.

“Agh!”

Well, at least it hurt him, too. Jackal’s head is whipped back, and he reverts to his bipedal form to keep his balance, snarling as he tugs at his feet.

“You were amusing, girl, but now you’ve annoyed me,” he snarls, extending a set of claws in his feet and tearing through my webbing after a few more pulls at his feet. My spider-sense chimes again, and I tense, ready to dodge as he leaps again, slashing his claws at me with a series of repeated swipes that I duck, left, right, right again, left, down –

I leap forward, too far into his reach, and wrap my arms around him in a tackle, sending us both sprawling.

“Fuck him up, Widow!” I hear distantly, but I don’t dare take my eyes of Jackal. If Pete has it in him to cheer me on, he’s obviously either in control of the situation or very convinced that he is. Jackal and I roll, and I leap away, holding my hands out.

_THAWP! THAWP!_

“You insufferable girl!” he yells, far from the faux-charmer he was a few minutes ago. He tugs his wrists, which are bound to the pavement, his feet fixing on the ground and pushing hard enough to crack the ground under them. “Adrian!”

For a moment, I think he’s doing his best Stallone impression, but my spider-sense clangs again, and I dive out of the way just as a pair of talons rake the air above me. I hear a muffled _flump_ and turn to see…

“Jeez, is there some kind of animal theme you guys have?” I say to the Vulture, who seems to have joined the trend of cybernetic animal-themed modifications, as his legs have been replaced with the inverted, taloned claws of his namesake, and his arms now bear huge, feathered wings. He swipes a wing at the Jackal’s bindings, and the cat-man frees his other wrist with his own claws, springing to his feet.

“Um…Spider-Man?” I call, squaring off with the two. “Backup?”

“Hands! Full!” Peter says, and I glance over quick enough to catch a glimpse of him throwing cars at Rhino. He can lift cars? Wow.

Didn’t know that.

Spider-sense! I leap out of the way as the Jackal pounces at me, back in cat-form, and as I’m airborne, I feel another clanging. The clever jerks feinted me; the Vulture swoops in, and I feel his claws sink into my arm as he attempts to drag me higher. Thinking as quickly as I can, I stick my arm out.

_THAWP!_

My web latches to a wall, and for a moment, it’s pulled taut as the Vulture tries to pull me higher, and I wince in pain as his talons dig into my arm.

“Aw, is the poor dearie afraid of heights?” the Vulture asks in a reedy voice. “Miles, let us help her confront her fears. It’s only healthy after all.”

“Good idea, Adrian,” the Jackal cackles, dashing over to where my web is latched onto the ground. I’m already straining against the force of being caught in a tug of war between an old man in a vulture suit and the ground, my arm screaming in pain as it’s clamped by the Vulture’s talons. Then, the tension snaps, and I feel a short moment of relief before panic sets in. There’s nothing stopping the vulture from pulling me higher, higher,  too high.

“Oh fuck, fuck, SPIDER – “

“GET SOOOOOOOOME!”

I feel a lurch, and my arm is released as the Vulture lets a grunt of pain, something—or someone—huge colliding with him and crashing to the ground on top of him. The pair roll, and the new arrival bodily throws the Vulture into a wall before turning and watching as I fall. I swing off of a stoplight and land next to my rescuer, who does a little victory jig.

“Fuck yeah, that’s like…big damn heroes moment right there! You were like ‘save me!’ and I just fucking tackle-charged a robot bird!”

“My hero,” I mutter, smiling up at Harry—the Tarantula—who has embraced the spandex, or…rather let it embrace him. His suit looks like mine and Peter’s, but with green accents and a silver web design. “How did you know we needed you?”

“Are you kidding?” he asks. “Like every station has this fight going right now.”

“ _Incoming!_ ”

Next to us, a car lurches onto two tires as Peter impacts it, crumpling into a heap before dragging himself to his feet.

“Hey, Tarantula,” he groans, pressing his hands to his back and leaning back with an unsettling popping sound coming from his spine.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah, got him on the ropes,” he says. “Tarantula, why don’t you handle the Vulture? You’re a brick, so you can weigh him down, keep him out of the sky.”

The Vulture cackles as he swoops overhead. “Oh, another little spider has come to dance?” he taunts.

“You know it,” Harry says, shifting into a crouch and leaping toward the winged man. “Dance, fucker, dance!”

He latches onto the Vulture and sends him careening into a wall, the old man’s indeterminate cussing echoing through the sirens. Nearby, the Rhino looms through the smoke coming from the cars burning around us. My spider-sense starts buzzing faintly as the Rhino crouches, lowering his horn.

“Aw, why deed you run away, itty spider?” he says in a thick Russian accent. “Rhino was just beginning to haff fun. You weel hurt my feelings like thees.”

“Aw, sorry little buddy,” Pete says, leaning toward me and whispering. “Get ready to jump.”

“Rhino eez _not_! LEETLE!” With a soft whirring of shifting parts, the Rhino shifts into his quadrupedal form, dragging a hoof across the ground and charging forward, sending my head buzzing with spider-sense from myself _and_ Peter. We leap out of the way as the Rhino charges past us.

_WHUMP! Crackle-zzzzzzzzt!_

“Gaaaah!”

We land, and I turn to see the Rhino twitching and screaming with arcs of electricity jolting over his body, having run into some kind of electrical box on the side of a building.

“Aleksei, you fool!” the Jackal yells, shuffling back as Peter and I fix our gazes on him. “Adrian! We’ll have to… “

His words trail off as the Vulture flies through, colliding with the side of a building, and I quickly web his wings to his body as Harry trots up next to us.

“Man, why didn’t we pick up this vigilante shit sooner?” he asks. “What’s that word you always use? Cathartic?”

“Yep, very cathartic,” Pete says. “So, what’s the move, Jackal? Surrender? Ass-kicking? Warm milk and some catnip?”

“You’ve made a very powerful enemy today, little spiders,” the Jackal says, shifting to his cat form. “Otto will not stand for this insult.”

He opens his jaw wide, and a small orb pops out, bursting into a huge ball of smoke. When it clears, he’s gone, leaving his two friends behind. Around us, the street is in disarray, firefighters doing what they can to contain the vehicles blazing and belching smoke into the sky. The sirens are nearly deafening now that I actually listen, and I hear shouting.

“Did he really just cough up a hairball smoke grenade?” Pete asks.

“It’s like he _wants_ cat jokes,” Harry says.

“We should move,” I say, turning to them. “We don’t wanna be here when the cops show up.”

“Agree,” Pete says. “Tarantula, your place?”

“Dad’s out, so yeah, we can lay low there,” he says.

As we leap up onto a rooftop, taking a moment to recuperate before heading out, a thought occurs to me.

“Harry, where’s MJ?” I ask.

“Oh,” Harry says, scratching his head. “Kinda had to leave her at my place.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Well…that’s kind of a loaded question, I mean – “

“Harry Osborn, _what_ did you _tell_ her?”

“You know, in a few months, we’re gonna find all of this really funny, I know it.”

“Harry Osborn – “

I hear Peter snicker nearby and glance over to see him holding his hands up defensively.

“Sorry,” he says, “he’s so huge and you’re just…not. It’s…. Please continue. Don’t hurt me.”

I just turn back to Harry, who takes a step back.

“How much does she know?”

 

“You guys are superheroes!” Mary Jane squeals as we all slump into seats in Harry’s living room. “This is so un-freaking-believable!”

“Harry, do you have like some gauze or something?” Pete asks, sliding his shirt away to reveal that the cut on his arm is looking pretty nasty.

“Oh my gosh, Pete,” I say, standing and hurrying over. “Oh, that’s…we need to disinfect this and…Harry, do you have a first aid kit?”

“We have a first aid  _closet_ ,” Harry says, standing and rushing from the room. “Hold tight, Pete, don’t die.”

“Easier said than done,” Pete chuckles, glancing over at Mary Jane. “How are you handling all this?”

“It’s so wild!” she says, bouncing in her seat, eyes wide. “Oh, and…Gwen, hey, he didn’t actually  _tell_  me. I mean…he saw the report and Pete was on the Rhino, and he was like, ‘Oh, shit, Pete’, and…I mean, it was pretty easy to figure out from that.”

I sigh, shaking my head. I can’t really be mad at Harry for being worried about his best friend. His brain-mouth filter has never really been that great, either. Harry hurries back in with a huge bottle of disinfectant, a bunch of cotton swabs, and a roll of gauze, and I hold out my hand to Peter.

“Arm,” I say. He sticks his arm out, and I take him by the wrist, examining the cut. It’s along most of his forearm, and if it was any deeper, it would need stitches. He should be able to get by with just gauze and some TLC, but he might have a bit of a scar. I dab some antiseptic onto a swab and look up at him, starting to speak before he cuts across me.

“This is going to sting,” he says, smirking. “Let me have it, Gwen.”

I just smile at him. “Such a tough guy,” I say, dabbing the stuff onto his cut, watching it froth up as it cleans the wound. He tenses a bit, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“Felt worse,” he says. “Ever get a splinter under your fingernail?”

“Oh my gosh, Pete, I’ve heard this one like  _ten_  times.”

“Summer of 2010,” he begins, like he’s telling a grand adventure. “Gwen Stacy wants to show off how  _awesome_  she is at climbing trees.”

“You are never going to let me live this down, are you?” I ask him, dabbing at his cut.

“’Watch me, Pete!’” he says in an imitation of ten-year-old me.

“You’re the one that wanted to one-up me,” I say loftily. “No sympathy.”

“Not even a little?” Pete asks, pouting at me.

“Okay, like one sympathy,” I say.

“Gimme like…four,” he says.

“Fine, four sympathies, but that’s all I can spare.”

“You need to restock,” he says, and I just giggle, finishing cleaning up the cut. I pull out some antibacterial cream, applying it before wrapping his forearm tightly (but not too tight) in the gauze. “Thanks, Nurse Gwen.”

“Does it hurt really bad?” I ask, peering up at him. He shakes his head.

“I mean, it stings from the stuff you put on it, but not really,” he says. “I’m kinda just…achey all over.”

“Yeah, you got thrown into a car!” Mary Jane says. “And then you just…got right back up, like ‘Whatever’. It was pretty cool.”

“Yo, if you guys are feeling gross, we could hit the hot tub,” Harry says. “Gwen, you still have some swimsuits here from summertime. I bet MJ could wear one of yours?”

Mary Jane glances to me then down at herself, smiling sheepishly.

“We can make it work,” she says.

Oh, fuck off, Miss Mammaries.

 

“So, how did you guys  _get_  spider powers?” Mary Jane asks as we all lounge in Harry’s hot tub, and I won’t deny the hot water feels amazing on my tense muscles. “Are you mutants?”

“If we were, we’d be X-Men,” I say.

“Aw, that would be so cool!” Harry says. “Do you think Professor Xavier is as big a tool as he seems like, or is that just because he doesn’t know how to handle being in front of a camera?”

I sigh, turning to see Pete leaning out of the hot tub, tapping away at his phone with his injured hand.

“Texting Jess?” I ask him, and he nods, looking over to me with a smile.

“She saw the report on the news,” he says. “They’re in a hotel somewhere, and her dad won’t stop acting all smug, like, ‘We got out of there just in time’, and….”

I smile at him, wrapping him in a hug, and he blushes a bit, probably because I’m in a bikini that fit me last summer, but I’ve outgrown it in a few important places.

I had to lend the more recently-purchased one to Mary Jane, who’s still straining it with her…endowments.

Not fair.

Still, I got Peter to blush, and that’s what matters.

“What’s she saying?” I ask.

“Oh, she sent like fourteen texts before I could get to my phone, basically complimenting the way I was playing Rodeo with the Rhino,” he says.

“What, no mention of me?” I ask, pouting.

“Well, the camera went for the biggest player, and the Rhino is literally the biggest one,” he says with a shrug and a little smile. “Sorry.”

I sigh, nudging him in the shoulder. “Whatever,” I say. “It’s not about the recognition, right?”

“Exactly,” he says, looking away from his phone to smile warmly at me, and I bite my lip. He’s so…. He doesn’t exactly look super happy, especially after all of the personal turmoil, but at least he looks content. “We’re making New York a place people shouldn’t be scared to live in.”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling over at him. “And…who knows, maybe…certain people will decide they wanna move back.”

“I…yeah,” he nods. “That would be good.”

 

That night, Pete and I are lying on his bed, just relaxing. Dad’s working late due to the whole craziness with the Superior Six, especially with booking two of them, and Aunt May is downstairs, watching some mindless television show while she reads a book and winds down from a day of cleaning up Oscorp.

“How’s the arm?” I ask, glancing over at Pete, who holds his forearm up.

“Healing up well enough,” he says, “thanks to Dr. Gwen, Medicine Woman.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” I say, smiling at him.

“Yeah, I’m a troubled teen emo, but not  _that_  emo,” he says, lying back on his bed and smiling over at me. “Hey…you’re a really awesome friend. You know that, right?”

I roll my eyes.

“I could do better.”

“Everyone could do better,” Pete shrugs. “It’s the struggle of being human. You know you’re never quite as perfect as you could be, so you just keep trying harder. I feel like…maybe true happiness is knowing you did your best, even if your best isn’t totally perfect.”

“And we did our best today, didn’t we?” I say, smiling down at him.

“Every muscle in my body hurts, my arm is kinda throbbing a bit, and I don’t think I even have the energy to stand up right now,” he says, yawning a bit. “Yeah, I think we did pretty good.”

“Brought the Superior Six down to the…something Four, I’m too tired to think of something,” I say, looking over to see him dozing. I smile and lean in to kiss him on the cheek. “Get some sleep.”

I stand and start to head for the door, but I feel a tug on my t-shirt, turning to see him looking up at me with this guilty little sheepish look.

“Would you feel better if we stayed together tonight?” I ask, crawling back onto his bed.

“Only if it won’t get weird?”

“Peter, we’re super-secret crime-fighting vigilantes with powers we got from being bitten by radioactive spiders,” I reiterate. “We’re pretty past weird.”

“Fair point,” he says with a small smile. “Yeah, I’d…feel better if you were just…here, you know?”

“I’ll always be here when you need me,” I tell him, hoping it doesn’t sound too heavy-handed. “Promise.”

I curl up on his mattress, feeling his back pressing against mine.

“Sleep well,” I tell him softly.

“You, too,” he says back.


	18. Chapter 18

On Monday, classes resume.

I try not to think too hard about the fact that a familiar head of ginger hair isn’t there to greet me when I get off the bus. I don’t want to see the empty seat next to me in Journalism I, the table that only has three people at it in Life Skills.

The only relief is the constant stream of texts.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[good morning, spider!]_

_[I know it’s gonna be tough, but it’s not like I’m completely out of your life. We can text between classes!]_

_[I wanna tell you all about how boring these podunk teachers are.]_

_[and don’t forget, you have to take pictures of the cheerleaders after school! Don’t stare too hard ;) ]_

I smile at my phone as I make my way to the front door of the school, Gwen right next to me.

“What’s Jess saying?” she asks.

“Pretty much all the right things,” I say softly, smiling over at her. We head toward the school, and instinctively, I reach over and take her hand, used to walking with Jess. It takes me a full twenty seconds to realize that the hand I’m holding feels different, Gwen’s fingers longer and slimmer than Jess’s as they lace through mine.

“Oh…um,” I look up at Gwen, who just smiles back.

“I…figured I’d just roll with it,” she says sheepishly. “Is that okay?”

I nod, chuckling. “Yeah, I guess I’m just…way too used to the hand-holding thing,” I say. “I’m spoiled.”

Gwen just giggles, squeezing my hand. “Well, anytime you wanna borrow mine, go for it,” she says. “No questions asked. Better mine than Harry’s right?”

“Oh, God,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Pete, Gwen!” Harry’s voice calls. We turn to see him hurrying toward us, and I laugh when I see Mary Jane clinging to his back in a piggyback ride. He stops and deposits his girlfriend before reaching into his backpack.

“Harry, why were you – “

“She walks so slow,” Harry cuts over Gwen with the answer to her question. “Yo, did you see this, though? Um…the _Tarantula_ put up a new YouTube video of the fight with those freaks last night.”

“Gosh, I bet he did such an amazing editing job on it, too,” Gwen says with an impish little smile up at Harry.

“Can’t deny, the guys got an artistic eye,” he says with a smirk.

“Style’s a little different this time around,” MJ says. “I think he got an Assistant Director or something. Someone with a more feminine eye.”

“You know, if anyone was actually listening to this, the subtext would be painfully obvious,” I say, glancing around.

“It’s high-school, people are way too self-absorbed to eavesdrop on the cool losers,” Gwen says, squeezing my hand. “C’mon, I wanna get a green tea before class.”

“You’ll be running to the bathroom by second period,” I caution her, and she just sticks her tongue out.

“You hush.”

 

Following lunch, I approach Journalism. Or… _we_ do. Gwen has insisted on walking me to class, her hand gripping mine tightly, reassuringly.

“Did Jess text you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Told me to have fun in Journalism and just focus on the class.”

“Want me to meet up with you after class, walk you to Life Skills?” Gwen asks.

“I can handle it, Gwen,” I assure her, smirking over at her. “I’m a big boy.”

She just smirks right back, giving my hand one last squeeze. “Alright, big tough guy,” she says. “See you in Gym. Dodgeball.”

“You’re going down, Stacy,” I caution her, and she just winks.

“We’ll see,” she says, sliding her hand out of mine and wandering off down the hallway. I turn and step into the classroom, approaching the desk.

_“Hi! Mind if I sit here?”_

I take my seat, settling my backpack onto the floor before folding my arms on the table and resting my chin on them.

_“I’m Jessica. You’re…Peter?”_

I pull my phone out and set it on the desk, swiping to look at my texts and just staring at the last one from Jess.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[don’t spend all your time moping and missing me, okay? Have fun in Journalism and be the dork I fell in love with.]_

Easier said than done, Jess.

After a lonely Journalism class, I’m on my way to Life Skills when I hear my name over the PA.

“Peter Parker, to the guidance office, please. Peter Parker, to the guidance office.”

Great. What did I do now?

Turning around, I make my way back downstairs as the hallways empty out, students ducking into their classes. By the time I reach the main offices, the halls are abandoned, and I get to enjoy that lovely feeling of being in school without actually having to be in class for all of five seconds before I open the door to the counselor’s office and step inside.

“Peter Parker?”

The guy waiting for me looks…well, like a guidance counselor. Short brown hair, an absently friendly smile, and a boring gray suit.

“You’re not Mrs. Sloan,” I say.

“She retired shortly after the lizard incident,” the counselor says promptly. “Couldn’t handle the stress. I don’t blame her. I’m here to cover for her until the position can be filled permanently. My name is Phil Coulson. Call me Phil.”

“Phil,” I say, moving over to his desk and sitting in one of the two chairs. “Okay, so…why am I here?”

“I read up on a few of the students that may be experiencing some emotional distress this year, and your file was top of the stack,” he says. “Your mother and fathered died at a young age, and I understand you lost your uncle very recently. Sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks for your sympathy,” I say, the words feeling empty and automatic after I’ve uttered them who knows how many countless times in the past few months. “My Uncle Ben was a great man.”

“Sounds like you have plenty of memories to cherish,” he says. “I know it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It isn’t,” I say flatly. “There was no reason for him to die that night. It was totally senseless.”

“Do you ever think about the man who did it?” Phil asks.

“More than I probably should,” I admit. How often have I pictured his face when I’m beating on a bad guy? That’s probably not healthy.

“Do you know what happened to him?” Phil continues.  
“He got put in prison for a very long time, like he deserves,” I say flatly.

“Do you ever feel he deserves more?” Phil asks.

“More?” I repeat. “What, like a death sentence?”

“Does that sound fair to you?” Phil asks, his voice calm and just quietly probing. He’s a good shrink, for sure.

“I think…it’s not my place to decide if someone deserves to live or die,” I say. “Everyone makes mistakes, but…most of the time, there’s no one person to blame. It’s the whole world. Like…like Newton’s Third Law. Every action has an equal reaction. Sooner or later, if you do a bad thing, something bad’s gonna happen to someone else. People need to realize that you can only bring good by stopping _all_ of the bad, so there’s just nothing left but good.”

“Some would call that naïve,” Phil says, still with that same not-quite-a-smile.

“’Lots of people don’t want to admit that the best future is one you have to work hard for,’” I say. “Uncle Ben used to say that. He had a lot of those.”

“Sounds like someone who knew what he was talking about,” Phil says. “What about you? Are you working for a better world?”

“I’m doing everything I can,” I say.

Phil stares at me for a long moment, and I’m used to that look. Adults look at me like that when they realize I don’t buy into the mystique surrounding “grown-ups” that seems to stick to some kids well into their late teens. Uncle Ben told me a long time ago that turning eighteen doesn’t automatically mean you learn how the world works; most people continue well into adulthood with no idea what they’re doing, and a lot never figure it out.

“They’re in the same boat as you, Pete, they’ve just been bobbing in the water a little longer before trying to figure out where they are,” he said. “Start now, you might just pass them.”

I really should write a book about Uncle Ben’s witticisms.

“That’ll be all today, Peter,” Phil says. “You can head back to class.”

 

“It was definitely in the top five weirdest conversations I’ve ever had,” I tell Gwen as we make our way out of school. Swim practice was canceled, so the two of us set off for the bus stop. “It was like talking to a therapist and a police interrogator at the same time.”

“Did you get any like bad vibes off him?” Gwen asks, slipping her hand into mine as we walk. “Should we be worried?”

“I don’t think so,” I say. “He seemed alright.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with…our little hobby?” Gwen asks.

“Maybe,” I say as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Jess.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[armed robbery, Manhattan! Car chase heading down Park, passing 23rd!]_

_[don’t get shot!]_

“Okay, I’m changing her name in my phone to the Commissioner,” Gwen says, already tugging me behind a building.

 

We’re suited up in seconds, made easier by the fact that we just wear them under our “civilian” clothes all the time now. It makes gym a little more awkward, but I just told Flash I have an embarrassing scar and don’t want anyone to see, and he covers for me while I change in private.

He’s pretty great; I hate lying to him like that.

“Did you text Ha—Tarantula?” Gwen asks as we swing between buildings. I’m barely able to hear her over the rushing of the wind past our faces, but apparently, a spider-bite enhances hearing, too.

Hey, I’m not questioning it.

“I did, but I didn’t get anything back before we took off,” I say. “He’s probably bumping uglies with MJ.”

“No pants dance?”

“Beast with two backs.”

“Bit of the in-and-out.”

“Some how’s your father?”

“Afternoon delight.”

“Aggressive cuddling.”

“Doing the nasty?”

“The hibbety-bibbety.”

“Driving Miss Daisy.”

“Assault with a friendly weapon.”

“Sweeping the chimney.”

“Violating the prime directive.”

“Roughing up the suspects?”

“Rummaging in the root cellar.”

“Do you hear sirens?”

“Um…never heard that one before,” I say before realizing what she means. Below us, an actual semi-truck is tearing up traffic, blasting through cars like tin cans and just causing general mayhem. “Oh, right, okay. How about…you web up the street in front of them, see if you can’t slow them down? Your webs are stronger.”

“You got it boss,” she sings, latching onto a lamppost. She swings around, gathering some momentum, and rockets forward. Doing the same with a stoplight, I land on the top of the semi with a soft thud. The police seem to have cleared the streets, but that only allows the semi to speed up faster, until the wind is roaring in my ears.

Okay, Parker, easy. This should be a cakewalk after dealing with half the Superior Six yesterday.

 _Should_.

But when has “should” ever mattered in my life?

I crawl along the top of the semi, feeling the wind pulling at my grippy-hands and hoping they’re grippier than the wind is windier.

Peter Parker, human thesaurus, here.

I reach the cab and crawl over the side, knocking on the window. Behind the wheel, a shaven-headed man with a thick goatee is driving the semi, looking equal parts terrified, angry, and exhilarated. In the passenger seat sits a woman, who is leaning out the window and waving an Uzi wildly at the road. At my tap, they both jump, and he swerves wildly, taking out a lamppost, a mailbox, and two newspaper dispensers.

It’s a big truck.

“Excuse me, I knocked politely!” I yell, hitting the window in. Glass shatters inward as the man raises a gun, and my spider-sense clangs loudly.

_Bang!_

I jerk my head aside and fire a quick web at the gun, pinning it to the ceiling, which clangs a bit. The woman brings her Uzi about, and it meets the same fate, stuck next to the other gun.

“Rude,” I say. “So, hi, I’m Spider-Man, and it would just be super cool if you could pull over, but seeing as you _shot at me_ , which is _very rude I, wanna reiterate_ , we’re gonna do this the whiplash way.”

I reach over and yank the door off the truck, tossing it aside. Holding out my hands, I fire a web at each of them, tugging them from the cab and leaping away.

_THWIP-THWIP!_

In short order, they’re hanging from the nearest stoplight while the truck zooms on without a driver, right into a giant web of nigh-unbreakable spider-silk. With no one hitting the accelerator and the engine straining idly against the webs, police soon swarm the vehicle. I hop up a wall and over a rooftop, leaning on the waist-high stone barrier around the roof. With a soft impact, Gwen is standing next to me, leaning against me and watching as well.

“Amorous congress,” she says.

“Adult naptime.”

“Baking the potato.”

“Dipping the wick.”

“Funny business.”

“Hitting the skins.”

“Interior decorating.”

“Horizontal refreshments.”

At that, she bursts into a fit of giggles, walking away from the edge of the roof and tugging her mask away. I join her, doing the same.

Those things start to stink after a while.

“We did good,” she says, turning to me and smiling, leaning against a little shed someone built on the rooftop. “We helped, no one got hurt, and nothing exploded.”

“Very loose qualifiers for a successful patrol, but sure.”

She smirks, stepping closer and taking my hands in hers. Her blonde hair is glinting in the afternoon sun as it’s whipped around by the fluttering breeze, and her eyes are big, silvery, full of a warmth and affection that makes my heart leap.

She looks so beautiful.

“Pete,” she says softly. “I don’t…. I wish there was something like in video games where you save before you do something stupid, and if it doesn’t work out, you just reload.”

I blink. Wow, a video game reference from Gwen Stacy?

“Alright, game saved,” I say, shrugging. “What is it?”

And then she’s kissing me.

I thought my first kiss with Gwen would be a confusing thing, full of regret and tangled thoughts of how I should take some time to get over the loss of my relationship with Jess….

Instead, what I feel is a blissful nonawareness of all of the crazy bullshit that’s been going on for the last few months. Kissing Gwen is like coming home, like simpler times. It’s the kind of kiss we should have shared while chilling in my room sometime over the summer, and probably would have if I hadn’t been such a wuss.

She pulls away, blushing a bit, and bites her lip as she gazes up at me. “Weird? Not weird? Reload last save?”

“Definitely not weird,” I say, smiling and leaning in to press my forehead against hers. “New and different, but not weird.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding relieved as she smiles up at me. “New and different is fine. A-and…and we don’t have to like make it any kind of official or…even make it anything. We can just be two best friends who hold hands and kiss sometimes while one of them is going through more stupid life turmoil than any fifteen-year-old should ever have to. You…. I just…I don’t wanna screw anything up. You’re my best friend, and…a-and I already almost broke our friendship that one time, and I don’t ever wanna do that again, but we definitely have _something_ , and I just don’t wanna feel like I’m trying to catch you on the rebound, but I also don’t want you to feel _guilty_ about all this, even though Jess is…practically pushing us together which is about two-hundred shades of awkward but really sweet at the same time – “

You ever see in the movies where one character shuts the other up with a kiss? It’s messier in real life, because it seems that the person speaking doesn’t always realize right away that the kiss is happening. I lean in and kiss Gwen again, and I swear, she talks against my mouth for two more words before relaxing into the kiss.  When I pull away, she’s blushing up at me, biting her lip and hugging me.

“Let’s…let’s go with best friends who hold hands and kiss for now, okay?” I request. “I don’t…it’s still a little bit confusing at this point.”

“That’s fine,” Gwen hurriedly says. “No, that’s totally fine, just…take your time, okay?”

I smile at her, reaching for my mask. “C’mon, wanna go tell Harry he missed out on a crime-fighting adventure?”

“Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be too upset,” Gwen says wryly, pulling her own mask on. As we’re making our way to the edge of the building, she huffs.

“What?” I ask, and she looks over at me. With her mask on, I can’t really see much, but I think she’s pouting.

“You’re a better kisser than me,” she grouses, and I burst out laughing.


	19. Chapter 19

As we approach the Osborn penthouse, Gwen winces, faltering in her web-swinging for a moment. We land on an adjacent building, and she clutches her forehead.

“Harry’s…something’s up,” she says. Even as she says it, I feel that rushing of adrenaline, the little buzz in the back of my head that I haven’t felt in a couple months, since the day that Harry ripped Carl King a new asshole.

“Yeah, he’s pissed,” I say. We both look as a huge figure hurtles itself from Harry’s window, flying in our direction.

_WHUMP!_

“Harry!” Gwen says, running to intercept Harry as he tears across the roof. “Harry, hey, what’s wrong?”

“That…that fucking… _tease!_ We’re sitting, and she’s in my lap, we’re making out, and she is full on topless!”

The discomfort on Gwen’s face is almost worth how awkward and terrifying this is.

Almost.

“So I pick her up, and we’re heading to my bedroom, and she goes cold on me!” Harry yells. “Starts pissing and moaning about how she’s not that kind of girl and she’s not who people think she is, and I’m like…agh!”

“Harry, did you…what did you do?” Gwen asks softly.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says. “That’s the problem! So I just took off out the window, and…Gwen, talk me down, talk me down.”

“Harry, it’s fine, this isn’t you,” Gwen says, running her hands along his arms. “This is hormones or some spider-bite thing you have. You’re a perfect gentleman. You’re a total pervert, but you’re a gentleman.”

I can already feel Harry calming down a bit, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. I can see that his arms have gotten…really hairy, and his fingernails have darkened a bit, elongated into claws. But even as I notice, things fade back to normal, the hair receding, his muscles relaxing as his breathing steadies.

“Do you think this is because of the spider bite?” he asks, his voice sounding drained now. “Gwen, Pete, this is…I don’t like feeling like that.”

“Well, you put on a ton of muscle mass, Harry,” I say. “It’s possible your body wasn’t sure what to do with all the testosterone, so you just freak out sometimes. Like the Hulk, but more low-key, you know?”

“But as long as we’re around to get you calm, it’ll be fine,” Gwen says, turning to me. “Right?”

I just nod, but in the back of my head, I do what I do the very best: worry. Harry was growing claws and some kind of fur. He was in the very beginnings of some kind of transformation, and images of that spider-guy from the news broadcast an eternity ago come to mind. Would Harry have turned into one of those? I compared him to the Hulk as kind of a joke, but…

“Pete?” Gwen’s voice pulls me from my musings.

“Yeah, yo, sorry,” I say. “Lost in thought.”

“Um…can you go check on Mary Jane?” she says. “I’m gonna make sure Harry’s calmed down.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” I say, webbing over to the side of the Osborn penthouse. I crawl up the side and through the window Harry just climbed out of, hopping into his room and looking around.

“Mary Jane?” I ask. “MJ, it’s Pete.”

“Peter?” a quiet voice asks, and I turn to see Mary Jane pulling her shirt on.

Purple bra.

“Oh, um,” I quickly turn around, feeling my face heat up under my mask. “Sorry. No, um…no door to knock on.”

“It’s fine, Pete,” Mary Jane says, sounding amused. “You’re a real gentleman. You can look now.”

I nod and turn around, taking a quick step back at how close she’s standing to me. She hunches her shoulders, giggling a bit.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she says. “Is Harry okay?”

“Yeah, and…I was kinda sent as the peacemaker or something?” I say. She just rolls her eyes, reaching up, and I feel her gripping my mask, pulling it away.

“I figured it was probably a spider thing,” she says, shrugging and handing me my mask. “Like…pheromones or something, you know primal. Rrrrg, breeding time.” She holds her hands up in a little snarling motion that’s…actually kind of cute. I chuckle, and she giggles a bit.

“We never really get a chance to talk,” she observes thoughtfully. “I feel like…we could be really good pals if we chatted more often.”

“I think that would be pretty great,” I say, smiling at her. She just smiles back, gazing at me for a moment.

“You have a nice smile,” she finally decides. “You haven’t really smiled that much recently. It’s nice to see it again.”

“Oh…well, thanks,” I say, feeling my face warm up again as I tug my mask back on. “I should go get Harry, though. He feels really bad and wants to apologize.”

She nods and steps closer to me again, reaching into her pocket.

“Cool, but first, gimme your number,” she says. “Just…I’ll forget to ask later.”

She pulls out her phone, and I recite my number for her, heading for the window. Peering out, I see Gwen and Harry staring up toward us, and I hold up my hand to give a thumbs-up before stepping away from the window when I see Harry shifting his weight.

“Might wanna stay away from the window,” I caution MJ, who nods and stays put.

_WHUMP!_

“MJ, I’m so sorry,” Harry says as soon as he’s inside, rushing over and pulling Mary Jane into a hug. “I…I know a lot of guys like to pull the ‘that wasn’t me’ card, but….”

“I know, Harry, I know,” Mary Jane says, squeezing him back. “Crazy spider-powers have downsides.”

A small hand slips into mine, and Gwen presses against my side. “Wanna leave the happy couple to their fun?” she asks, already pulling me toward the window. “We should probably go patrol anyway.”

“Thanks for the help, guys,” Harry says. “We’ll chat tonight, I’ll stop by.”

“Later, Harry,” I say, climbing onto the windowsill and dropping down. We latch onto a building and swing toward the city. Thoughts of Harry and spider-people and hormones leave me as I shift into patrol mode. Everything seems under control for now. No need to panic just yet.

 

Norman Osborn didn’t like to panic. Rational decisions were never made while panicking, and above all, Norman liked to consider himself a rational man.

Thus, when word of an outbreak in the Bioscience level of his R&D facility reached him, he didn’t panic; he sent his son and his friends home and scoured the building.

When he found only one spider still in the building, obviously squashed underfoot, the rest of them presumably having escaped, he still didn’t panic; he and Tony developed a long-range scanner to track them.

And when some of those spiders were found to have bitten dozens of New Yorkers, causing all manner of symptoms from simple radiation sickness to strange powers, he remained calm; he developed a tech-suit with the help of Tony to fight off the victims that were too far gone to listen to reason and paid reparations to the families when he could.

And that was that, he’d thought. It had been months since the last incident, and he had already been prepared to count it as in the past.

Then Tony Stark had called him to his floor.

“Afternoon, Norm,” Tony said as Norman approached him. Norman had initially protested the nickname, and frankly, he still did, but Tony Stark was a self-confessed “nicknamer”, to the point that he’d once forgotten that his hired driver’s real name wasn’t Happy.

“Tony,” Norman greeted him back. “Is this about your new lab assistant?”

Tony blinked, looking thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. “No, no, Carol is settling right in,” he said, gesturing over to where a blonde woman was standing in full PPE, prodding at some internal component at their latest AI attempt.

“Stark, I found the problem,” she called over. “Leak in the heat-sink oh hello, Mr. Osborn.”

“Miss Danvers,” Norman said. “I trust Tony’s being accommodating?”

“He drinks too much, listens to classic rock at full blast, and he insists on a two-hour lunch,” Carol said, smirking at the inventor. “I think I’m in love.”

“I haven’t known Stark for long, but that’s a dangerous place to be with him,” Norman said. “So, Tony, you rang?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, gesturing Norman over to the large holo-display in the middle of the room. “Jarvis, show Norm that thing you showed me.”

“ _Of course, sir_ ,” came the dry voice of Tony’s first foray into artificial intelligence, Jarvis. The holographic display shifted to a screen Norman hadn’t looked at in months, a translucent blue layout of the city dotted with green dots; the Chameleon bots were out on patrol, looking for traces of radioactivity left by the spiders. Most of the dots were just pulsing, going about their simulated lives, looking like nothing more than patrolling guards, mailmen, meter maids, the sort one would expect to see wandering around.

One, though, was blinking red.

“Another?” Norman asked. “It’s been months.”

“I know you haven’t exactly been keeping up with the news, but this case is a bit different,” Tony said, turning back to the display. “Jarvis?”

“ _The bite victims appear to have no lasting ill-effects from the irradiated spider venom_ ,” Jarvis explained, and on the display, news footage and various clips from YouTube showed a group of two boys and a girl running across rooftops, swinging with webs, and fighting off that criminal super-group that had surfaced in recent weeks. “ _In fact, like several previously recorded cases, they’ve gained superhuman abilities comparable to inborn mutation, similar to the cases of the Terrific Trio. The only difference in this case is their apparent retention of mental stability and cognitive function. A blood sample would be required for further prognosis, but at the moment, no further mutation is expected_.”

“So, the short version is, the spider bites gave them superpowers?” Norman asked, and Tony nodded.

“Like a spider-themed Terrific Trio,” he said. “They did help capture that Sytsevich guy, not to mention Adrian Toomes. And, breaking news is they stopped that runaway semi with thousands of dollars’ worth of stolen iPads. Personally, not a big fan of Apple, but when you make better tech than them by accident….”

“Burn,” Carol called from over by the other AI tower.

“I like her,” Tony said as Norman stared at the display. There was something…familiar about the one clip that was showing.

“Jarvis,” he said, pointing at the clip, “show me this one with sound.”

“ _Of course, Mr. Osborn_ ,” Jarvis said, and the clip grew on the screen, the sound fading into some punk skater song from the nineties.

“Sum 41,” Tony observed.

“Good song!” Carol called over, humming along.

Norman just stared at the video, especially at the larger of the two boys, recalling well the bewildered words of the family’s personal shopper when he claimed that Harry had inexplicably outgrown the newly purchased clothes after only a month.

 _“That was so sick!”_ the boy on the screen said, and Norman clenched his hands into fists, feeling a very unfamiliar sensation. For the first time in his life, Norman Osborn wasn’t sure what to do.

“Harry….”


	20. Chapter 20

“Ugh, you’re welcome, New York,” I say, stumbling through Gwen’s window to find her with her mask already off. I pull mine away, and she smiles warmly at me.

“Hey, we did good, right?” she asks. “It’s not about the recognition, it’s about the good deeds.”

“Okay, but you can’t stop me from using this coupon,” I say, holding up the voucher for one free soft pretzel from the Aunt Millie’s we saved from being run through by an out-of-control car. “Pretzel hot-dog, for the win.”

“Ugh, you just reminded me how hungry I am,” Gwen groans, flopping onto her bed. “That was an insane day. Good thing we got to Harry’s when we did.”

“I’m worried about that,” I say, flopping onto her bed. She moves to sit next to me, nodding.

“You saw the claw things, too, didn’t you?” she asks. I just nod. “I think he might have like a Hulk factor or something. If he’s angry for long, he…changes into something.”

I sigh, and she leans over me, cupping my cheek. “What should we do about it?” she asks, and I just shake my head.

“We can trust him,” I say. “He _knows_ about it, and he knows two things that lead up to it, so he’s probably gonna try to avoid something like that happening again. We just have to be ready to head him off if he starts to rage out again.”

She nods, fingers moving up to trail through my hair, making my scalp tingle, sending a thrill of shivers down my spine. “Your hair’s getting pretty long,” she says softly.

“Yeah, I need to get it cut,” I say, smirking. “It makes my head look perfectly round in my mask.”

“Well, you’re are an egghead,” Gwen says with a giggle, leaning down and kissing me softly. “Alright, I’m getting changed, so you can cover your eyes or leave.”

I move my hands up over my eyes, and she laughs again.

“Thought so,” I hear her say, followed by the soft rustle of fabric over skin, and I try really hard not to think about what’s happening as the flumping sound of her clothes hitting the floor reaches my ears.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” I ask.

“No comment,” she says. “Okay, you can look now.”

I uncover my eyes, and she’s wearing fleece pajama pants and a long-sleeve shirt, her go-to comfy clothes. She strikes a little pose, and I give her a small round of applause, prompting a small giggle from her.

“Um…you can borrow some of Dad’s sweats, if you want,” she says, smiling. “You could text Aunt May, tell her you’re crashing at my place.”

“I think I’d like that,” I say, and she smiles, taking my hands and dragging me out of her room, across the hall to her Dad’s room. She steps in and walks over to a dresser while I admire the sparse furnishings. Other than a large, perfectly-made bed, there’s little else but a desk with an archaic computer on it. The monitor is still an old CRT, and the keyboard looks like it’s from the 90s.

Jeez, put that thing out to pasture already.

“Stop pitying the computer and change into some sweats,” Gwen says, shoving a bundle of cloth against me.

“How did you know I was – “

“Because I’ve known you for literally half my entire life,” she says, dragging me back to her room. “Which is pretty wild, actually. I mean…think about it. In ten, twenty years, we won’t be able to remember a time we didn’t at least know each other. That’s pretty special, right?”

I chuckle a bit, motioning for her to turn around while I quickly strip down and slide into her father’s sweats and a shirt she picked out for me.

“I already can barely remember a time before Gwen Stacy,” I say. “I’d probably have gone crazy without you.”

“Aw, Pete,” she says, turning around as I’m pulling my shirt on and stepping in for a hug. She giggles and pushes me toward her bed, shoving me onto it and lying next to me. We sit in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company, the closeness.

“Oh,” I say after a few moments. “I’m…I had a thought about my web stuff. Um…a little tweak to the formula. And maybe a new design for the shooters. But it would require access to lab equipment I would never dream of being able to afford.”

“Couldn’t you ask Harry?” Gwen asks.

“Gwen we’re talking thousands of dollars,” I say. “I think Harry might have to run that big a purchase by his dad.”

She giggles. “I think you should set up some kind of lab or something,” she says. “Maybe in your basement. You know, um…in that old corner?”

I sigh; I know exactly what corner she’s referring to. The old worktable behind the basement stairs that Uncle Ben had set up as his “Man-Cave” of sorts, where he would dabble in his woodworking and occasionally fix up old bikes to donate them to charity. The space has gone neglected since Uncle Ben’s death, but Aunt May has hinted more than once that it’s “in need of a new genius to put it to good use”.

“I think it’d be pretty neat,” Gwen says, pressing her head against mine. “Uncle Ben would be proud of you using that old space to become the next big inventor, maybe come up with like…Web-Shooter 2.0 or something.”

“With realistic web-spinning action?” I ask, smirking as I look over at her.

“Only if it has Buzz Lightyear sound effects when you push the button,” she says, giggling a bit.

I pause for a moment. “I actually think I’d like to see how some purse-snatcher reacts to getting webbed up with laser noises.”

Gwen bursts into a fit of giggles at that, the bed shaking beneath us as she laughs. “Oh, please do that!” she says. “Just once, I wanna see it!”

“Only if you attach a web to your back and say ‘There’s a snake in my boot’ every time I pull at it,” I say, and she giggles, holding her hand up. With a flick of the wrist, a web shoots out.

_THAWP!_

She snags it and reaches back, affixing it between her shoulder blades. I chuckle, reaching back and giving it a little pull.

“There’s a snake in my boot,” she says in a singsong voice, but the strand of web snaps free at the pull, and she pouts. “Aw, you broke my string.”

“Now no one will ever know that the waterhole has been poisoned,” I say, and she gasps.

“Nooooo, the poor people,” she says, looking up at me with a pout. “Spider-Man, save us.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, Ma’am,” I say in a grave voice. “But just remember: You’ve got a friend in me.”

She rolls her eyes, leaning in for another kiss, giggling as our lips connect. She hugs onto me, leaning heavily against me and humming softly. “So, I’m really hungry.”

“Same, actually,” I say.

“But I don’t wanna go anywhere,” she pouts.

“The struggle is real,” I concur.

“We should order pizza,” she decides after a moment.

Neither of us move.

“You should order pizza for us,” she says, and I chuckle, reaching up to give her a little tickle. “Aaaahh, why you do dis?”

“It’s payment for my services as official pizza order guy,” I say, moving one hand up to tickle at the back of her neck, her weakest point.

“You accept payment in tickles?” she giggles, squeaking and squirming away. “That’s a strange form of currency.”

“Yeah, it’s all but defunct at this point,” I say in grave voice, “after the tickle crash of 2004.”

“No one laughed?” Gwen says, eyes wide.

“Not once,” I say, and Gwen just smirks, kissing me softly.

“Okay, I’ll order the pizza,” she says, standing. “You text Aunt May and let her know you’re here.”

I pull my phone out of my backpack and notice a few texts waiting for me.

**_From: Ozzy Bear_ **

_[yo, sorry I couldn’t make it out. MJ said we needed a “break”, so I wasn’t feeling it]_

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[hey, saw you guys on the news. Proud of you! <3]_

**_From: Unknown Number_ **

_[hey, its MJ! Text me when you have time. Pls?]_

Huh. That’s odd. Why does MJ want to talk to me so bad? I send along a sympathetic text to Harry telling him we’ve always got his back, then I send a quick thank-you to Jess, wondering if I should tell her about Gwen kissing me.

Something about that just feels like it’s in bad taste.

I’ll think on that later.

**_To: Mary Jane_ **

_[hey, we just got in from patrol. What’s up?]_

Gwen peeks in while I’m relaxing on her bed, prodding at her sound system to get some music going.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab a shower,” she says. “I feel a bit icky after all that swinging around.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll be here.”

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” Gwen asks teasingly, and I smirk at her.

“Down, girl,” I say, and she just sticks her tongue out, ducking out of the room. I look back at my phone to see a new text waiting.

**_From: Mary Jane_ **

_[saw you on the news! My heroes!]_

_[so…Harry and I never slept together. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, but I wanted you to know.]_

Well…unexpected.

**_To: Mary Jane_ **

_[why did you want me to know?]_

**_From: Mary Jane_ **

_[this is gonna sound really cliché and stuff, but you’re different.]_

_[the rest of the kids at school, like…the guys all see me as some tease, and the girls think I’m out to steal their boyfriends or something.]_

_[and like…you were so sweet when we first met, even before I knew you. you were all taking my picture, and we were just having fun.]_

_[so…I wanna be friends, but like the real kind of friends and not fake school friends.]_

Wow, Mary Jane. Hidden depths.

**_To: Mary Jane_ **

_[I’d love to be friends.]_

**_From: Mary Jane_ **

_[ ^.^ Great! So, I know you’re probably hanging out with Gwen right now, but text me sometime!]_

I stare at my phone for a moment, disbelieving. Jess, Gwen, and now Mary Jane. Three girls apparently interested in my company. Granted, MJ hasn’t shown a desire for anything beyond friendship, and while they’re apparently “on a break”, she’s still sort of in a thing with Harry.

It would be pretty scummy of me to step in on that, especially with Gwen obviously and very interested in a boyfriend-girlfriend setup.

I hear the bathroom door open, and Gwen’s voice calls out. “Hey, Pete?”

“What’s up?” I call back.

“Um…so, I forgot today’s laundry day, and there’s no towels in here,” she says. “Can you bring me a couple from the closet at the end of the hall?”

“Oh, um…yeah,” I say, standing and heading out into the hall, freezing for a moment when I see Gwen with dripping hair plastered over a bare shoulder as she peeks out from her bathroom door. “Oh, fuck.”

“Not even calling perv on this one,” she giggles, sticking her tongue out at me as I head for the closet in question. “I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah, well…good,” I say, opening the closet. I search out the collection of towels on the top shelf and grab out a couple fluffy white ones before heading back over to where she’s waiting, choking at the sight that greets me. Behind her, I can just make out the bathroom mirror through the crack in the door, which gives a perfect view of her…backside. I cough and thrust the towels at her, tearing my eyes away with some difficulty.

“Pete, what – “

“Mirror,” I manage. “Butt….”

“Oh,” I hear her say as she takes the towels, and moments later she gasps out. “Oh! Oh, well…lucky you, I guess.” She’s giggling, so that’s good; at least she’s not upset. As she shuts the door, the doorbell rings downstairs. “Oh, the pizza! Um, it’s all paid for, tip him decent, okay?”

I hurry downstairs, the image of what I just saw burned into my brain. It’s one thing to have to deal with those maddeningly tight yoga pants, but knowing what hides within….

It’s not creepy to think about if we’re sort-of-dating, right?

Does stopping a bank robbery together count as dating?

Sidetracked.

I open the door to see a college-age guy with close-cropped blond hair wearing a uniform for the nearby pizza bistro and carrying one of those thermal bags. The patch on his jacket says “Eddie”.

“How’s it going?” he asks. “Delivery for Stacy? Four large meat-trio, stuffed crust.”

“Hell yeah,” I say, taking the boxes and setting them on the dining room table as he fishes a receipt out. He passes it to me and hands me a pen.

“Just need you to sign,” he says, and I flounder for a moment; can I sign for credit card that belongs to Gwen’s dad probably?

“I got it,” Gwen sings in my ear, wrapping her arms around me and signing the receipt from behind me, her body pressed against mine as she passes it to Eddie. “Thanks!” she chirps at the delivery guy, who looks at me with newfound respect.

“You two have a…fantastic night,” he says, stepping off the porch as the door shuts behind him.

“That guy thinks you’re gonna get some,” Gwen giggles, bumping me with her hip.

“Or I already have,” I say, glancing over at her, and she sticks her tongue out.

“Okay, but pizza,” she says, snagging up a box. “We have to actually wage war on this pizza.”

“I bet I finish my half first,” I say, smirking, and she cackles.

“You are so on!” she says, dashing into the living room.

 

“… _story tonight, the Spider-Trio is at it again, albeit minus a member. The crime-fighting vigilantes known as Spider-Man and Black Widow waged a small-scale war on crime this afternoon, foiling the hijacking of a semi-truck full of electronics, a bank robbery, and even busting the notorious criminal known as the Shocker in his attempt to rob a jewelry store in SoHo. Absent was their number three, the Tarantula, who appears to have taken a day off. The trio have already garnered a small fan-base of New Yorkers, though police officers are skeptical at best and wary at worst. Police Captain George Stacy had this to say in an interview earlier this evening_.”

“ _Vigilantes like this mean well, but fighting crime isn’t a day-to-day job. Some of the bigger busts take weeks, months of preparations, and the actions of one gung-ho kid in a costume can throw that all out the…_ ”

“For heaven’s sake, Maximus, turn that drivel off,” Otto said, two of his mechanical limbs reaching out and delicately withdrawing a large glass tube from a judiciously padded box. He settled the vat into place, and with a soft hum, it began filling with a translucent red liquid. “I’d sooner not listen to tales of the exploits of those…children.”

“I like to keep an eye on them,” Maximus said, turning the volume down. “Keeps me focused.”

“Well, while you stew in your rage over past failures, I plan for future conquests,” Otto said, scuttling over to the next box and drawing out a tube identical to the first, lifting it and settling into another receptacle. He had originally intended to simply subjugate New York, to bully them into doing his bidding and show them what became of dismissing his claims. Dismissing _him_! Like he was some rambling madman, some…raving conspiracy theorist. Humanity was fast approaching its doom at the hand of the lowest common denominator, and if mankind didn’t start doing away with notions of equality, of everyone having a voice no matter how inane or ridiculous they were, they would soon become slaves to the rampantly multiplying swine, the insipid reality show watching sycophants that simply nodded along to the man on TV with the loudest most argumentative opinion.

To subjugate them wouldn’t work, however; they were a bull-headed lot that bucked any attempts at open control. If they could not be taught the superior path, his path, they would be lured into following it, until it became so routine that they didn’t even notice they were playing right into his hands.

Doing this would require a form that people responded to more positively than his current one, though. If he was to pander to the mindless masses, he would need to appeal to whatever flavor of the week they were into at the given moment. A scuttling cyborg, while efficient and useful in a lab, wouldn’t do well in the public eye. He would have to craft a new body, perhaps from the ground up.

And the flavor of the week (or flavor of the year, rather) was spider-powered freaks.

“Miles,” Otto said as the man in question padded to his side, currently in his quadrupedal form. “Didn’t you say your specialty was in the field of genetics?”

“I did, in fact,” Miles said, hopping onto his hind paws and shifting to two legs.

“And how have your studies enlightened you in regard to human cloning?” Otto asked. Miles chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

“My dear friend, it’s always been a rather secret passion of mine,” he admitted.

“Well, then the next few weeks are going to be quite exciting for you,” Otto said, smirking. “Quite exciting indeed.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Oh, God,” Gwen murmurs, slumping on the sofa as I lie on my back on the floor. “Food coma.”

I try to reply, but all I can manage is a hearty belch. “Ulllllpfuck.”

“Pretty much,” Gwen agrees, giggling down at me. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel that hungry, but damn.”

“Maybe the spider bites cranked up our metabolisms?” I guess, and Gwen shrugs.

“Probably,” Gwen says, nodding. She shifts onto her side, smiling down at me. “Hey, scoot closer. You need to be with arm’s reach of me like at all times because I feel this weird need to just be in contact with you a lot.”

I reach an arm out. “You’ll have to pull me; I can’t feel most of my body.”

She giggles and tugs me easily closer, her hand moving down to trail her fingers through my hair. “So…can I have another quick-save?”

I smirk up at her, rolling my eyes. “Alright, game saved.”

“Do you…like me?” she asks softly. “Like…in the same way I like you?”

“Gwen,” I say wryly, “I’ve had a crush on you since we were like eight.”

“Oh my gosh, seriously?” she asks, her hand pausing in her playing with my hair.

“You _never_ noticed?” I ask. She just pouts.

“Nooooo,” she whines. “Pete, you are blowing my mind right now.” She huffs. “I…this isn’t too weird, is it? Jess just left a couple days ago.”

I sigh, shaking my head.

“I think Jess ships us,” I say. “She spent about half an hour the day…the day she left…telling me that if things between you and I got serious, even if it was like that day, I shouldn’t feel guilty.”

“But you still do,” Gwen says. It’s not a question; she’s just stating what she knows to be true.

“It makes me feel a bit sleazy,” I say, sighing and scooting up to sit against the couch she’s lying on, so she can twist around a bit to face me. “I mean…three days later and I’m making out with you?”

“To be fair, we’ve both been crushing on each other for years but have just been too chicken-shit to admit it to each other, apparently,” Gwen says, shrugging. “Listen, Pete…. I’m not trying to talk you into anything or…coerce you into a relationship. You had a real, strong connection with Jess, and I respect that. I promise. If you wanna back off…I mean, I’ll hate it, but I’ll do it.”

I sigh, nodding. “I think…and I feel even sleazier for saying this,” I say, but Gwen’s literally my best friend; I can pretty much tell her anything and count on her usually just shrugging it off. “I…I like the hand-holding and the kissing and the other stuff like that. And…ugh, Gwen, I just love having a girlfriend-like setup with you, but – “

“But you still want to respect Jess and how you felt about her,” Gwen says. “Pete, sweetie, I understand.”

I smile at her, leaning in and pressing our foreheads together. She nuzzles her nose against mine, smiling sweetly at me.

“Kiss?” she asks softly, and I press our lips together, Gwen responding with a small noise. We part, and she sighs, smiling at me. “So, Jess ships us?”

“Like hardcore,” I say, chuckling. “She told me she was really surprised when she found out we weren’t already dating.”

“Do you miss her?” she asks softly.

“I mean…of course,” I say, shrugging. “She was the first girl to ever…really tell me she liked me. Ugh, I’m talking about my first girlfriend with my best lifelong friend who also happens to be in love with me and…God, Gwen, I know what Bilbo was talking about when he said he felt like butter spread over too much bread. My mind can’t wrap itself around all of this.”

“C’mere,” Gwen says, scooting around on the couch and patting the cushions in front of her.

“Gwen…” I trail off even as I make to crawl up onto the couch with her.

“No, c’mon,” she says. “It’s been a crazy day, and you need to sleep on it.”

“That…sounds pretty perfect, actually,” I say, chuckling a bit as I settle onto the couch. Gwen wraps an arm around me, her breath puffing against my neck, making me shiver a bit.

“Just relax and don’t worry about me, okay?” she says. “Whatever you decide, I’ll always be here. You’re my best friend, and I don’t ever want that to stop.”

We lie there in silence, Gwen dozing against my shoulder, while I stare at my phone. My sleep addled brain spells out the text message before I can even stop myself.

**_To: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[Would you be mad at me if I dated Gwen?]_

The text is returned in five minutes.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[Pete, of course not. I love you, but I’m all the way over here. I don’t want to stop you from enjoying yourself, okay? And Gwen…she’s awesome. If I had to pick anyone for you to date instead of me, it would be her.]_

_[Listen. I know this sucks. I miss you so much. And I’m kind of glad you asked me about this. But I think you need someone to be with you. With all that’s going on, you NEED someone to kind of be your security blanket.]_

_[I don’t want to imply that you need like protection, but you’re in a very like…vulnerable spot. With your uncle and this vigilante stuff going on, you need someone to kind of stay close to you and stuff. You get it? And if it’s Gwen, I won’t feel bad at all. You two have so much between you already, this is basically the next step.]_

_[Go ahead. Be with her, okay? But I want to reserve the right to drop the L-bomb on you whenever I want, okay?]_

I roll over onto my other side and smile as I see that Gwen has already drifted off to sleep. I reach up and gently trail my fingers down her face, along her jaw. What did I ever do to deserve not just one but two girls that care so much about me?

I sigh, setting my phone aside and taking Gwen’s advice. Maybe I should just sleep on this and hope everything is clearer in the morning. As I settle in, Gwen shifts around a bit and nuzzles into my chest.

“Pete,” she sighs. “Love you….”

I hesitate for only moment before I settle in and smile at her. “Love you, too.”

 

It takes two days.

Two days before everything goes all pear-shaped. And I _never_ use the term “pear-shaped” in normal conversation.

Oh, it starts off as a normal enough evening, with the three of us chilling on some nondescript high-rise building in SoHo, taking a small break after a rather intense fight with some guy calling himself the Ringer.

“For real, though, he uses hoops,” Gwen says, leaning against me and sipping at her coffee. “That’s…that’s it. That’s his whole shtick.”

“I mean, he picked a theme and ran with it,” I say, tapping away at my phone. Mary Jane has been pelting me with text messages while we were fighting crime, apparently really into the idea of us being best pals.

“Yo, Pete, what’s strong against Dark type?” Harry says, poking at his Nintendo 3DS.

“Fighting type is the only one that’s springing to mind,” I say without looking up. I’m staring down at my screen, sending away another message.

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[just beat up some guy called the Ringer. His whole thing is rings, that’s it.]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[maybe he listens to Beyonce. He liked it, so he put a ring on it?]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[you are the worst, congratulations.]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[aw, I’ll consider that a compliment from Pun Master Parker ^.^]_

I’m typing out my reply, when a doughnut looms in my vision, alarmingly close to my face.

“Doughnut,” Gwen sings. “Open wide.”

I smirk over at her, taking a bite from a frosted yeast ring with sprinkles, and Gwen giggles softly, squeezing my arm.

“Maple frosting, your fave, right?” she asks, dusting some sprinkles from my suit.

“You know me tho well,” I say with a mouthful of doughnut. I gulp it down and chase it with some coffee, glad for the warm beverage on this chilly evening.

“So, what’s MJ saying?” Harry asks, and I jump, glancing over at him and feeling a wave of guilt wash over me at the attempted casual tone.

“Um…we’re just chatting,” I say. Harry glances over and grins at me.

“Hey, relax,” he says. “We’re on a break, no harm in talking to her. Heck, we still keep in touch on Facebook. She just got a little spooked after my ‘roid rage episode.”

I smile back, and he reaches over, punching me gently on the shoulder.

“The only thing you should feel bad about is giving me the third-wheel treatment,” he chuckles, laughing even more at the way we both blush at that. “You guys haven’t made it Facebook official, though. What gives?”

“We’re taking it slow,” Gwen insists, resting her head on my shoulder. “It’s…kind of a weird time right now, you know?”

“Exclusive?” Harry asks, and Gwen and I glance at each other.

“I figured we were,” I say, and Gwen smiles.

“Well, _I_ am,” she says, her hand rubbing gently over my back. She sips at her coffee and leans in to kiss my cheek, her lips warm from the hot drink. “Coffee kiss.”

“I feel energized already,” I say with a smirk, looking back to my phone to see I’ve gotten another text.

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[Hey, rando question. Would I look good in like hipster glasses like you wore? I’m thinking of ditching my contacts.]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[I didn’t even know you WORE contacts. But yeah, you could rock the hipster frames.]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[I think I might go for a whole new image. The preppy cheerleader eye candy isn’t really doing it for me.]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[Hipster girl eye candy feels more like you to you?]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[Aw, you think I’m eye candy? ^.^]_

_[But, yeah, I dunno. I’m tired of putting out this image I think everyone else wants or expects.]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[Well, put out the image YOU want to.]_

“Pete, sirens,” Gwen says softly, and I nod, downing the last of my coffee as I stuff my phone in a pocket of my backpack. Down below, a sleek sports car whizzes by, followed by two police cruisers.

“Radio says it’s a bank robbery gone carjacking,” Harry says, holding up the police scanner. “Guy’s got a few thousand and a car he can part out for double that.”

“Doesn’t he know life isn’t supposed to work that way?” Gwen asks, shaking her head as she pulls her mask on, standing up. On either side of her, Harry and I do the same.

“He must have missed that lesson,” Harry says.

“Time for a tutoring session, then,” I say. “Tarantula, can you run interference? If anyone looks like they’re about to get smeared, get them out of the way. Widow, web up the road just like before?”

“Can do,” Gwen says, already swinging away.

“Spider-plan, spider-plan,” Harry sings, “Spider-Man’s got a spider-plan.”

“Catchy,” I admit, leaping off the building myself. The air whips past me as I pick up speed, and I let out an ecstatic yell as I stick my hand out.

_THWIP!_

I swing forward, using shorter, shallower arcs to keep me moving forward, catching up to the speeding car, which has the advantage of fairly clear streets with the post-work rush over with. The smooth purr of the engine greets me as I land on the roof, and as soon as I contact the cool metal, the car veers wildly left to right. My spider-sense clangs, and I dodge as a bullet comes flying up through the roof.

“Hey, hey, let’s have some respect for other people’s property!” I yell, crawling over to the side and reaching down. “Well, I can say that, but I’m about to do this.”

I smash out the window with my fist, reaching for the door handle, but my wrist is grabbed and tugged. For a frantic moment, my only point of contact is the hand on my wrist, but I grip onto the roof and brace my feet against the side of the car as it zooms along.

Wow, that road is moving really fast.

“You mutant freak!” the driver yells, aiming his gun down at me.

“Hey! Let’s keep the bigotry out of this!” Gwen’s voice calls as she lands on the roof of the car as well, swinging her foot down to kick the gun out of the guy’s hand. She yanks me back up onto the car, pressing our foreheads together. “Saved you,” she says in a singsong voice. “Signal when you’re ready for a net.”

With that, she leaps away, leaving me to reach down into the car and yanking him out.

“That’s my girlfriend,” I say to the guy. “Isn’t she just great? Goodbye!”

I hurl him away, gesturing at him, and I hear a distant _thawp_ as Gwen webs him up. Climbing down into the car, I stare at the interior. I’m not even old enough for a learner’s permit, and this car looks like Tony Stark had a hand in designing it. Okay, right pedal is break?  Nope, nope left pedal.

_SCREEEEEEEECH!_

The car comes careening to a halt, and I look down at the shifter-knob thing, shifting it over to “Park”. The distant sounds of sirens draw closer, and as I climb out, the cruisers surround me and the car, police officers flooding out of them and drawing their guns.

“Stay where you are!”

“Hands in the air!”

“Get down on the ground!”

“Freeze!”

“Don’t make any sudden moves!”

I raise my eyebrows under my mask. “Guys, guys, I’m getting some mixed signals, here. Let’s all go one at a time and – “

I never get to finish my pithy remark as a heavy _whump_ next to me announces the arrival of Harry, who slings me over his shoulder and simply leaps away.

“Let’s do this again sometime!” I yell after me.

“I feel like King Kong, but you’re not a hot blonde chick,” Harry mutters, setting me on my feet, and Gwen lands nearby, trotting over and hugging me.

“I saved you from getting shot,” she brags, and I roll my eyes.

“Thank you, Gwen,” I say wryly. She giggles, trotting toward the edge of the roof and peering over her shoulder at us.

“Manhattan?” she asks. I glance back at Harry, who just shrugs.

“Fuck yeah, let’s take Manhattan.”

 

We’re passing by the school when it happens. We land on the rooftop of the gym, and as we’re dashing across it, Gwen gasps, stumbling and turning to Harry.

“Harry, look o – “

_WHOOM!_

The rooftop beneath my feet shakes, and Harry whizzes by me, having jumped out of the way of –

“Oh, fuck!”

“Off the roof!” Gwen shouts, dragging me along as Harry hauls ass alongside us. Behind us, a ten-foot-tall iron monster lumbers after us, each footstep thudding loudly as it gives chase.

“What is it!?” I yell over at the other two.

“How the fuck do I know!?” Harry calls back.

We leap from the rooftop, tucking into a roll and scrambling out of the way as the thudding footsteps pause for a moment before…

_Whump-BOOM!_

The robot thing pauses, and for a moment we’re in a standoff, giving me a moment to get a good look at it. It’s huge, of course, built like a linebacker, and looks to be made of some silvery-colored alloy painted up green for aesthetic or something. From the scratches and missing bits of paint, it’s obviously seen some battle in the past, and rumors of a metal beast chasing down mutated spider-folks over the past few months while I was catatonic with grief spring to mind. Five glowing blue orbs are set into its chest, and the slits that account for its eyes glow faintly orange in an otherwise fairly minimalist facemask.

The face looks familiar….

“What do we do, Spidey?” Gwen asks, her voice shaking nervously.

“Web it up,” I tell her. “Tarantula, tank. I’ll look for a way to disable it.”

The metal man makes a small noise that could be laughter before lunging forward, and we all leap into action. I’m aware of Gwen webbing it up with a _thawp-thawp_ before I land on its shoulders, slinging around its neck and feeling the monster lurch as Harry grapples with it.

“Alright, big fella, I don’t know what you are, but you’re being awfully menacing,” I say, looking for some kind of control panel or something, but nothing is apparent. “C’mon, there has to be some kind of access panel. Alright…well, I’ll just make one, then.”

I grip the edge of an armor plate and tug, pulling at it. I hear a creaking as the metal starts to bend, but I’m jostled as the bot does a little dance, attempting to shake me loose. My spider-sense clangs briefly, and I look around for an arm or a hand attempting to grab me –

_ZZZZT!_

Ow. Ow, ow, ow. Every muscle in my body seizes up, and it feels like needles prodding everywhere at me before all of the strength is sapped out of me. I limply attempt to hang on, but my grip is weak, and I start to plummet for the ground.

“No!” I hear Gwen shout, and a slender set of arms wraps around me before I hit the ground, dragging me away from the fight. Her concerned face comes into view, looking hazy, and I struggle to focus. Why doesn’t she have her mask on? “Pete? Peter!? Hey, are you with me?”

“Ow,” I mutter, and Gwen laughs softly with relief hugging me.

“You alright?” she asks. “Can you walk it off, or do we need to – “

“Nah, I’m…I’m good,” I say, standing up, shaking myself off. Everything feels a bit stiff and achy, but Harry’s soloing that robot thing right now. “C’mon, get your mask back on, we have to help – “

“ONE SIDE!” Harry yells, his voice getting closer alarmingly fast as he flies toward us, colliding with a large bush and tumbling onto his back. “Alright, so right out of the gate, we’ve learned some stuff.”

“Don’t stay in contact with him for too long,” I say. “He zaps. Widow, web him up, Tarantula, we’re gonna have to get basic.”

“Find heavy things and throw them at him,” Harry says, nodding, and I shrug.

“That’s pretty much the only thing I can think of,” I say. “Decorative rocks, trees, the night janitor’s van.”

“Aw, poor Julian,” Gwen says.

“He has State Farm,” I say, the ground shaking as the robot thuds over to us. “Okay, he’s getting closer.”

_THAWP-THAWP!_

“More thawps!” I yell as Harry and I split up. I run for the sign in front of the school and heft it, grunting as my aching muscles strain to lift it.

_Rrrrrrrgrunch!_

Alright, just like shot-put.

I suck at shot-put.

I do a quick spin, holding to the sign with my grippy hands, and release. Thankfully, weeks of web-swinging have given me a new appreciation for bell curves, and the sign collides with the robot with a satisfying crunch. I notice that its arms are bound to its sides, and it’s apparently straining against Gwen’s webs.

An entire tree comes flying at the robot next, knocking it on its back and sending it rolling.

_Kreeeng-KSHOOM!_

With a  bright blue flash of light, the webbing dissipates as the monster stands…just in time for a rock to collide with it.

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” a voice yells from the robot, familiar but modulated by the suit’s sound system. “ _Harold Cornelius Osborn, what do you think you’re doing!?_ ”

“No…” Harry mutters, taking a small step back. “Dad!?”

Wait.

What?

Harry’s middle name is Cornelius?

Dad?

Norman Osborn!?

“ _I want you, all three of you, at Oscorp in one hour_ ,” the robot that is apparently Norman Osborn says. “ _This is not a conversation to have out in the open, but it’s one we’ll have to have. Peter. Gwendolyne. You two as well._ ”

“But…but Dad, how did – “

“ _As I said, we’ll have this conversation in the lab_ ,” Norman says, the robot’s head turning toward me. “ _Peter, I apologize for the shock. It was a reflex reaction. Lucky for both of us, it was low-voltage and should wear off in an hour or so_.”

“Oh, um…don’t worry about it,” I say, shrugging, still trying to process all of this. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“ _I’ll make it up to you_ ,” Norman says. He glances toward the roof, and we hear a low rushing sound that gradually increases in volume until some sort of…hoverboard flies over, albeit one that looks like it was designed by Rob Zombie with some input from Ozzy Osbourne. It has a bat-like look to it, with lots of sharp, curved edges and two giant glowing repulsor lifts flying it around. Norman hops onto the glider thing, and it takes off into the sky.

“ _One hour_.”

As Harry’s father shrinks into the distance, we all gather near the shattered remains of the sign I threw. The school’s probably not going to be happy about that.

“So, that was totally bizarre,” Harry says, sounding shaken for the first time in living memory. “My dad…. That was my…holy shit….”

“Harry, sit down,” Gwen says, gesturing at a nearby bench, and Harry immediately moves over and flops onto it. “Okay, what do we do?”

“My dad just attacked us in a giant megazord suit,” Harry mutters at his knees. “My dad is the green Power Ranger from hell.”

“Pete,” Gwen says, glancing at me, and I can’t see her face, but she sounds concerned, pausing and leaning closer. “Are you really okay? He didn’t zap you too hard, did he?”

“Oh, um…I’m good,” I say, shaking my head. “Just…wigged out.”

“Yeah, I think we’re all pretty wigged right now,” Gwen agrees. “Are we going?”

“I mean, if we don’t, Mr. Osborn will probably just find us and drag us there himself,” I say, placing my hands on my forehead and taking a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Hah, shit. That was your dad. I can’t even…. What if he tries to like…take our powers away?”

“Well…that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Gwen asks softly, shrugging. “I mean….”

I turn to stare at her, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “You mean, what?” I ask, my voice a little sharper than I intended, and she flinches a bit. “Gwen,” I continue more calmly, “we’re doing good. We’re stopping bad guys. I’ve come too far in this to give it up because Norman Osborn says we should.”

“I know, I know,” Gwen says, stepping closer and hunching her shoulders. “Sorry.”

I reach out, tugging her into a hug. “Besides, I’d rather not go back to the frail, borderline asthmatic Peter Parker.”

Gwen giggles, pulling away and poking me in the nose. “Say what you will, you were kinda cute back then,” she says. “Trying your best.”

“So, do we stand up to him?” Harry asked from his seat, staring forward. “Just…tell him this is what we wanna do?”

“That’s really all we _can_ do,” Gwen says, sighing and shaking her head. “If he doesn’t like it, that could complicate things, but…I mean he won’t straight-up kill us, at least.”

“You don’t know him that well, do you?” Harry asks in a half-joking voice, standing. “Alright, no use crying over it, let’s do this.”

 


	22. Chapter 22

It doesn’t take us long to swing across the city to Oscorp, where we land in an alley by the building and slide into our street clothes. No one notices three teens running out of an alley and making for the lobby, not this late in the evening. It’s well past time for the office workers to go home, so the building is mostly deserted, lit only by the dim utility lights. As we head for the elevator, Harry digs out his wallet and pulls out a card I remember he used to access the R&D floors.

It feels so surreal, walking through this perfectly normal office building, which smells like glue, paper, and lemon-scented cleaner, hearing the distant sounds of the janitor vacuuming some office out of sight. An hour and a half ago, we were stopping a carjacking. Forty-five minutes ago, we were fighting the man we’re about to go chat with. He was wearing a giant suit of armor that still doesn’t feel like it should be able to exist. How advanced is Tony Stark beyond the rest of the world, tech-wise?

We step onto the elevator, and I sigh, leaning against a wall. Gwen joins me, slipping her hand into mine, and I just take a moment to listen to the soft chiming elevator music, trying to relax a bit. Of course, relaxing is all but impossible when we could very well have another fight on our hands in a few minutes.

“Just…if shit does go down, the windows are like almost unbreakable, so we had back for the elevator,” Harry says. “I’ll bust out the bottom if I have to, and we can just climb down.”

“Harry, everything’s going to be totally fine,” Gwen insists. “Your dad is perfectly capable of having a reasonable conversation.”

The elevator dings, and a cool male voice announces our arrival. “ _Sixty-second floor, Research and Development. Mr. Osborn, your guests have arrived._ ”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Norman’s voice says as we step off the lift. He’s waiting for us in the little hallway of cubicles that leads to the larger chamber where Tony works. Currently, some classic rock tune I can’t quite make out is playing in the background while Tony directs a couple of robotic arms through what looks like routine maintenance on Mr. Osborn’s suit. Norman himself is wearing some sort of form-fitting jumpsuit, probably to make piloting the armor more comfortable. “Welcome back, you three.”

He leads us into the main area, which now has a large metal scaffold set up in the center, allowing Tony to work on the suit, apparently. A small circle of chairs and a loveseat have been set up, the collection of car enthusiast and music magazines littering the seats telling me this is probably Tony’s “breakroom” of sorts.

“Sit,” Norman instructs us, and we all immediately plop down, Harry taking a recliner, Gwen and I squeezing into the same huge armchair. Norman studies us, sighing. “Harry. You lied to me when you said nothing happened the day you visited.”

“Dad,” Harry says, leaning forward, “we were…. We were _scared_. We had no clue what was happening to us, and we thought you might….”

“That I might what?” Norman said, his voice sharp and crisp. “Kidnap my own son and his friends and dissect them? Stuff you in a containment cell for the rest of your life?”

“We weren’t exactly thinking rationally, sir,” Gwen admits. “But…with what was happening with the rest of the bite victims, we were afraid you might think the worst.”

“At the very most, you would have been asked to stay at Oscorp for a few days for monitoring,” Norman says. “If any of your powers proved…disruptive or potentially dangerous, I would’ve had Dr. Connors working on a cure of some sort.”

“That’s it?” Harry asks.

“Not entirely,” Norman says, and though his voice is level, the look he gives Harry makes me wonder if my best friend is suddenly glad his father wasn’t a little more involved in his upbringing.

That man could stare down Medusa.

“I would also do everything I could to stop you from this…vigilante business,” he says. “Harry, what are you thinking? Swinging around the city, beating up criminals, getting involved with the _Superior Six_ , for Christ’s sake?”

“We weren’t getting _involved_ with them, we were _stopping_ them,” Harry insists. “Thanks to us, two of them are in jail.”

“ _Were_ in jail,” Norman says. “They escaped yesterday evening.”

“What – “

“That’s entirely beside the point, however,” Norman continues. “The point is that you are going to get yourselves killed. You may think yourselves invincible because of these powers you have, but one day, you’ll run across someone who’s just as powerful, maybe more powerful, and you may not be able to beat him.”

“But…but Mr. Osborn, we have to try,” I say, and Norman turns that look on me. I want to flinch, but Uncle Ben always said if you can’t even look at a man while making a point, the point might not be worth making.

This point is worth making.

“Peter?” Norman says. “I don’t know what my son has filled your head with – “

“Forgive me, Mr. Osborn, but _I_ was the one filling _his_ head,” I say, standing. “I…my Uncle Ben told me once that my father had a philosophy that…that really shaped a lot of what he did. He believed that with great power, there must also come great responsibility. We have these abilities, abilities few other people have, and…and we’re getting better and better at using them. We’ve been making a difference, even if it’s just a small one. Because we _have_ to.”

Norman folds his arms. “Peter, the world is an ugly place,” he says. “It’s not your responsibility to clean up after the wrongdoings of others.”

“But, with all due respect, sir, I think it _is_ ,” I insist, staring into Norman’s bright green eyes, which are narrowed with…not anger, but some kind of intensity. “The world is ugly, but there’s so much good out there, too. We just let the bad overshadow it and beat it down, we…we don’t _do_ anything, we _didn’t_ do anything for so long that there are lots of horrible and corrupt people in places that let them keep doing horrible and corrupt things. It’s snowballing out of control, and it’s all happening too fast for the law or the police or the government to stop it. Meanwhile, good people like…like my uncle are getting killed because a guy wanted some easy money, and the easiest way for him to get money wasn’t earning an honest living, it was pointing a gun at someone who _was_ and taking what he earned.”

“Pete…” Gwen says softly, and I feel her hands wrap around one of mine.

“I know you’re worried,” I say, the words tumbling out at this point. “You’re a good father. You…you love the hell out of your son, enough to put on a giant suit of armor and try to scare him into playing it safe. But…I’m gonna keep doing what I’m doing. If putting on a mask and beating up thugs is the best way to make this world a better place, then…that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“I could tell your Aunt,” Norman says in a quiet voice.

“I bet she’ll be proud,” I say just as quietly. “She’ll worry, but she’ll be proud. The way I see it, it’s hardly different than being a police officer or a firefighter. Mask, badge, helmet, it’s all the same.”

I’m bluffing, sort of; if Aunt May found out, one or both of us would probably have a full-on anxiety attack or a psychological breakdown, but I can’t let Norman figure that out.

Norman sighs, placing a hand to his forehead and massaging his temples. “Alright,” he says. “You’ve…given me a lot to think about. I’m going to call your parents and let them know you’re staying at the penthouse tonight. I am going to call Walton, and he is going to _drive_ you to there. No web-swinging, no more vigilante antics for tonight. You’ll come back tomorrow morning, and we will…discuss this further.”

“Dad…” Harry starts, sounding on the verge of crying.

“Harry, we’ll discuss this in the morning,” Norman says again, his voice kinder. “I…I’m very proud of you for doing what you think is right. Go out the main doors, and Walton will be waiting for you.”

Gwen hurries over and takes Harry’s arm, dragging him to his feet. We all head for the elevator, and I realize my hands are shaking as I lean against the wall. As soon as the doors close, Gwen is hugging me tightly.

“Pete, you…wow…” she says. “That was one of the most heartfelt speeches I think I’ve ever heard.”

“I dunno what happened, I just…it felt like someone else was speaking,” I say. “He needed to understand, though. He needed to.”

“I really think he does,” Gwen says. “You…you might have actually gotten through to him.”

“Whatever the case, it looks like we’re having a slumber party at my place,” Harry says, sighing. “Damn, that was tense, though. Thanks for taking the heat, Pete.”

“Well, this really was mostly my idea,” I admit with a shrug as we step out of the elevator. “I just kinda dragged you guys along.”

“Excuse me?” Gwen asks, quirking an eyebrow at me. “I definitely remember volunteering.”

“Yeah, good luck dragging me anywhere,” Harry says, and I look over to see him pulling a flex. “I’m pretty sure I’m like two-hundred pounds of pure gains right now.”

“I swear if you call them your gains one more time…”Gwen mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Uh-oh,” Harry laughs as we climb into Walton’s car. “Unbreakable web gag?”

“You better not do it a… _gain_ ,” I say, smirking at my own pun.

“Nope, nope,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “Forget my dad finding out about all this, that pun is the worst thing that’s happened tonight.”

 

Norman watched his son and his friends disappear into the elevator, heaving a sigh once the doors shut. He made his way back over to where Tony and Carol were trying not to make it obvious that they’d eavesdropped on every word.

“Well, this is a disaster,” he said, slumping against one of the control consoles.

“ _Shall I have a glass of brandy brought up for you, Mr. Osborn?_ ” Jarvis asked, and Norman nodded.

“Yeah, thank you, Jarvis,” he said, looking up and seeing Tony eyeing him with a smirk. “Yes, Tony?”

“I know that face,” he said, hopping down from the scaffolding. “That…is the face of a man who had the whole conversation planned out in his head…and saw it come crashing down around him. Two brandies, Jarvis.”

“Three!” Carol said as she followed him down.

“ _Three brandies, on the way, sirs and madam_ ,” Jarvis acknowledged.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be have been Parker’s idea,” Norman sighed. “If it was Harry’s, it would have been just a bid for attention disguised as altruism. That’s an easy enough notion to talk down.”

“Actual altruism from a boy who shouldn’t think he owes the world anything wasn’t in the cards,” Tony said, sitting in a chair nearby while Carol flopped onto the sofa. “Quite the speech he gave. The cynical part of me wants to see what it’ll take for him to give up that wide-eyed worldview.”

“I think that was the point,” Carol said. “Weren’t you listening? Cynicism is the problem, to him at least. He really, truly believes he can change the world with this.”

Norman sighed again, shaking his head. Parker reminded him a lot of Curtis. All Curtis Connors ever wanted to do, all he still strived to do every day, was change the world for the better, to help people. Parker was approaching it…in a rather unorthodox fashion, but who was Norman to stop him? In any case, short of caging the boy up, Norman didn’t think he _could_ stop Peter from doing what he believed was right. And Harry would follow his friends to the ends of the earth.

He was so much like his mother in that way.

“Damn it,” Norman said as the elevator opened, a Chameleon bot stepping out with a tray held perfectly level in its hands. They each took their brandies, Norman knocking back half of his in the first gulp.

“If I may, Mr. Osborn?” Carol said. “Why not help them?”

“I can’t very well go patrolling around in the armor with them,” Norman said, shaking his head. “I have a company to run.”

“Well, not like that, of course,” Carol said, “but Tony has been developing some pretty nice tech that might come in handy. If you can’t stop them from running around and putting themselves in danger, why not make it easier to pull their asses from the fire when things heat up too much?”

Norman stared contemplatively at his brandy glass, swilling the amber liquid around before turning to Tony.

“Show me.”


	23. Chapter 23

“I think we need to make the after-patrol hot tub soak a thing,” Gwen says as we lounge in the bubbling waters of Harry’s Jacuzzi, staring out the bay window at the stunning Manhattan skyline. She leans back, and I do my level best not to stare at the way her bikini shows off more than a lot of skin, but she catches me looking anyway, giving me a little wink.

At least Harry’s off in the bathroom right now.

“Sorry,” I mutter, glancing away, and she giggles.  
“Pete, it’s alright,” she insists. “Given how often we see each other running around in skintight clothes, I don’t think we have room to be shy about looking.”

“True,” I admit, chuckling.

“Besides, you’ve seen my butt, haven’t you?” she says with an impish little smile. I feel my face heat up at the memory, nodding.

“Y-yeah.”

She giggles, prodding my shoulder. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Twenty-seven,” I answer immediately, eliciting.

“Good answer,” she says, and she’s kissing me, her fingers tracing down my chest to tickle at my stomach, making me squirm away. She giggles softly against my lips, pulling away and looking up as the door to little sun porch opens. Harry steps in with a small grimace as he looks at his phone. He tosses it on a couch and shrugs, sliding into the water with a heavy sigh.

“I think MJ and I are dunzo,” he says. “Like, for good.”

“Aw, Harry,” Gwen says, frowning and reaching out to pat his hand. “You guys were doing so well.”

“Hey, I’m not gonna lie, it was a mostly physical thing,” Harry says, shrugging. “We talked about music and stuff, but we never really had any super deep meaningful shit going on. She says she’ll come over sometime next week to talk it out, but she needs to like…process a lot of stuff.”

“Well, she did just find out about us being spider-pals,” Gwen says, sliding down in the water a bit to lean against me. Soaked up to her chin, her hair unbound hair floats around her head in a blonde fan, swaying with the bubbling water. “Then that crazy ‘roid rage thing happened, and it sounds like she’s having a bit of an identity crisis, too.”

“Wait, what?” I ask, turning to her. Come to think of it, Mary Jane’s texts have been sort of…introspective lately.

“MJ’s…well, we partner up in Phys Ed a lot, and she’s been chatting my ear off about this whole…thing she’s been having where she’s not sure who she is,” Gwen says. “I didn’t really think too much of it, but if she’s gotta process stuff….”

I want to mention her string of texts to me, but…it doesn’t feel right to Mary Jane to gossip about her like that, not when she’s trusting me with her personal affairs like that. I suddenly want to go get my phone and see if she’s sent me anything new. If I can help her through this, if I’m the only one that she feels she can _rely_ on for this….

“Pete, what’s up?” Gwen asks, squeezing my arm, which has the side-effect of pressing it against her chest. I gulp, looking down at her, and she’s smirking at me in a way that tells me she _knows_ what she’s pushing against me.

The little brat.

“Um…just lost in thought, really,” I say. “There’s been so much going on lately.”

“I know,” Gwen says, shaking her head. “Hey, maybe when we’re done soaking, we can just put on a movie we’ve seen a million times and blah out in your room, Harry?”

“I’m down for that,” Harry says, his face brightening. “Yo, let’s watch Bio-Dome!”

“Oh, God, I hate that movie,” Gwen grumbles with a roll of her eyes.

“ _Stubby!_ ” Harry shouts at me, his lips pulling into the first grin I’ve seen from him tonight.

“Squirrely,” I say back with less enthusiasm, though I can’t help but smile back.

“Ugh, I remember when you first discovered that movie, you would just shout every time you saw each other,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes. “And the random tribal dance – “

“ _Hot tub triballll!_ ” Harry yells, waving his arms around, and I laugh but obligingly wave mine around.

I can see Gwen fighting a smile, so I reach over and grab her arms, waving them in the air as well, and she burst into giggles, shaking her head and tugging her arms away before hugging me.

“My dorks,” she says with a mock long-suffering sigh.

“You love us,” I say, poking the top of her head, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

“You’re still dorks.”

****

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[So, I’m gonna do it.]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[You’re gonna steal the Declaration of Independence?]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[No, Nicolas Cage. XD I’m gonna quit the cheerleading squad.]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[Awesome. What are you gonna do instead?]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[would you think I was a creepy stalker if I joined the newspaper?]_

_[I mean, I have a nosy streak, so why not put it to use? XD]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[why would I think you’re a stalker? :P I could use the company]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[yay! I’ll be Mary Jane Watson, ace reporter and track star!]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[I like it.]_

“Texting your new bestie?” Gwen asks, toying with my hair as I lie on a massive pile of blankets on Harry’s floor, my head in her lap. To her credit, she doesn’t sound upset that I’m texting another girl, just idly curious.

“She’s quitting the cheerleading squad,” I tell her. I finish the text and send it to Mary Jane before setting my phone aside and smiling up at Gwen.

“Really?” she says with a thoughtful hum. “I always kinda thought she liked the attention or whatever.”

I shake my head.

“Mary Jane’s actually kinda complicated,” I say. “She only joined the cheerleading squad because everyone sort of expected her to. But she’s tired of doing things just because she thinks it fits into this perception everyone else has built up of her.”

Gwen furrows her brow thoughtfully.

“Huh,” she noises. “Hidden depths, much.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I say. “Makes you feel a bit scummy, like…how many people have you just written off without realizing they’re probably totally capable of super-deep thoughts?”

“What if Flash Thompson is secretly some kind of Nietzsche philosopher or whatever?” Gwen asks, and I snort, laughing in her lap.

“You know what, if he is, I’d love to hear some his views on life in general,” I say. Gwen smirks, leaning down to kiss me on the nose.

“I think I understand why MJ kinda opened up to you and no one else,” she says. “You have this…I dunno. You’re so nonjudgmental. I could walk up to you tomorrow and tell you I’m a furry and identify as a giraffe, and you’d just nod and be like, ‘Cool, wanna get some Taco Bell?’.”

I chuckle.

“Hey, but now I really want some Taco Bell,” I say.

“Yooo, I could have Walton get us a fat box of Taco Bell,” Harry says from his bed, shifting around until his head is hanging off the side, so he’s looking at us upside-down. “I’m fucking starving.”

“I think we’re all just doomed to a state of mildly having the munchies,” I say. “The spider bites gave us like amazing stamina, but we burn through calories like crazy.”

“I mean, I love eating, so that’s just fine to me,” Harry says. “Taco Bell, though?”

I shrug.

“Fuck it, let’s get some late-night Taco Bell,” I say. “Usual for me.”

“Same,” Gwen says, looking back down at me. “Hey, did you hear about the Sadie Hawkins dance?”

“I mean, it was on the announcements this morning, so…yeah,” I say, chuckling, and Gwen gently bops me on the nose.

“Wanna go with me?” she asks.

“I’d be honored,” I say, and she gives me a warm smile, leaning down to plant a quick peck on my lips.

“Good, because I was ready to beat you up if you said no,” she says with a smirk.

“Oh, nooooo,” I say, placing my hands to my face in a dramatic panicked expression. “What kind of abusive relationship have I gotten myself into?”

Gwen just giggles and goes back to trailing her fingers through my hair, her fingertips tracing slow, amazingly soothing patterns along my scalp.

“I…I thought it was really cool when you stood up to Harry’s dad today,” she says softly. “I just…wanted to tell you.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at my hands. “I guess so.”

“No, Pete, it really was awesome,” she insists. “And…it was kind of inspiring. I mean…you told us when we started this whole thing that we were setting out to save people, but…I didn’t know you had such a big picture in mind.”

“Yeah, you literally wanna save the world by being a good person,” Harry says from the bed, his body half draped over the side and in danger of giving into gravity and sliding off. “That’s like…some Gandhi or Mr. Rogers shit.”

I snicker a bit. “Would my super-impressive one-liner before kicking as be, ‘It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.’?”

“Yes,” Gwen says fervently, grinning at me and hopping up and down with a fit of giggles. She grips my arm and shakes me a bit. “Oh my gosh, do that. And…and our group name is Neighborhood Watch!”

“You joke, but I’m so on board for that,” Harry says, chuckling. “Dude, the Neighborhood Watch!”

“I thought you’d be more worried about your dad,” Gwen says with a curious look up at him, and Harry shrugs.

“Well, like you said, Pete kinda dropped some logic on him,” he says. “If it didn’t work, I guess we just run away, become super-secret vigilante renegades.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “I think you’re romanticizing that option a bit,” she says wryly.

“Nah, you guys are the ones getting romantic,” Harry says, and Gwen just sighs, placing a hand to her forehead.

“He’s not wrong,” I say, poking her in the forehead, and she sticks her tongue out, playfully biting at my finger.

“You hush.”


	24. Chapter 24

The next morning, we ready ourselves for the day, having spent enough school nights at Harry’s that the whole situation is pretty routine at this point. We all take turns in the shower, and the family chef prepares a mouthwatering breakfast of Belgian waffles and bacon. We all have some spare clothes stowed at the penthouse, so we all three step out of the elevator on the ground floor feeling fresh as daisies.

We’re greeted by the site of Walton, waiting by the same expensive Mercedes-Benz that carts Harry off to school every day.

“Good morning, Mister Osborn,” he says. “Miss Stacy, Mr. Parker.”

“Morning, Walton,” we all chorus. The driver turns to Harry.

“Your father has instructed me to tell you that you three will not be attending school today,” he says. “Excuses have been made to your parents and the school. You will be visiting Oscorp to discuss…important matters. I wasn’t told what those matters are, and I’ve been explicitly told that I should not _know_ what they are. So…keep it hush-hush or roll up the seat divider.”

“Oh…” Harry trails off, glancing at us and shrugging. “Yeah, thanks, Walton.”

We all pile into the car, Gwen pressing herself against me and latching onto my arm. It’s obvious she’s pretty nervous, and even Harry is much quieter and more pensive than usual. For my part, I’m just ready. Norman Osborn may be twice my age and carry all the worldly wisdom that implies, but I _know_ I’m in the right on this. We’re doing a good thing, and he just needs to accept that we’re all growing up and coming into our own as young adults.

All in all, it’s a subdued car ride to Oscorp. We soon lapse into silence, and for a moment, I’m amused at the mental image of this very car ride accompanied by Eminem’s Lose Yourself.

Mom’s spaghetti.

We arrive at Oscorp, and after an all-too-familiar elevator ride, Jarvis announces our arrival on the sixty-second floor. We step out of the lift, and Gwen and Harry pause at the sight of Norman Osborn waiting at the end of the makeshift hallway of cubicles. I grab each of them by the arm and pull them forward; show fear, and you give the other guy ammunition, Uncle Ben always said.

I’ve been relying on his nuggets of wisdom a lot lately; I can almost picture him, translucent and ghosty, standing behind me, nudging me in the shoulder.

_“Go get ‘em, Pete.”_

I will, Uncle Ben.

“Welcome back,” Norman says, gesturing at the little break area we all sat in before, and we all resume our previous seats. “So…I think you’ll be pleased to know I barely slept last night trying to think of how I was going to handle this spider business of yours.”

“I’m actually pretty pleased to hear that,” I say, and I hear a laugh in the distance; Tony Stark is eavesdropping, it seems. Norman fixes me with a thin-lipped look and I smirk right back. I don’t know what’s gotten in to me, but fuck the system, I guess.

“Peter, I hope you’ll understand that I’m just…I’m worried about you three,” he says. “You’re still so young, and this vigilante business is extremely dangerous. I had hoped you would reconsider – “

“I won’t stop as long as – “

“Please let me finish?” Norman asks, and I sigh but nod, keeping quiet for now. “I _had_ hoped, but after seeing your resolve and how much this means to you, I knew that the more I fought this, the more it would just steel your resolve to keep going. Peter. You’re passionate. And you’re good. I only met your Uncle Ben once, but even in that short meeting, I could tell he was a great man, and it’s obvious he’s had a profound impact on you.”

I blink, nodding and looking up at him, keeping silent for now. Gwen silently rubs small circles on my back.

“This crime-fighting means a lot to you, and Gwen and Harry are obviously willing to follow you to hell and back,” he continues. “I want to thank you for inspiring such selfless determination in my son, and I admire your ability to influence others so profoundly. So…I’m willing to support this endeavor of yours.”

“No fucking way,” Harry says softly.

“Language,” Norman chides his son, turning back to me. “I will support you, but that means you also need to know that sometimes, you’ll have to be willing to ask for help. I’m going to give each of you a distress beacon. Use them responsibly. You’ve done well on your own so far, but if you need help, you activate the beacon, and I’ll send along a Chameleon bot to help you out. I can’t show up myself; I have a company to run. But they will protect you.”

“I…. Thank you, Mr. Osborn,” I say earnestly. “Thanks for…taking this seriously, I mean.”

Norman gives me a rare smile, turning and glancing back toward the armor. “Once, I dreamed of making a difference in the world,” he says. “I wanted to change things, to usher in a new era of progress. I wanted to shake the world to its foundation. I founded this company because I felt that was the fastest way to really effect change. Now, seeing you three, the Terrific Trio, and…certain other rumors I’ve heard, I feel that you are the path to a brighter future. Truth be told, I’m a little envious.”

“Of us?” I ask, incredulous. Norman Osborn, jealous of three superpowered punks?

“Of you,” Norman says. “People say children are the future, but I don’t think they know how right they are. There are a great many like you out there, discovering that they have the potential to shape future history. But, Peter, hearing what motivates you, the vision you have…. I think you could very well be the greatest of all of them.”

Wow, way to lay the pressure on me, Norman.

“Now, there are some terms I have, besides the distress beacons,” Norman says, and we all perk up and focus in on him again. “First, this does _not_ interfere with your education. If I hear of any slipping grades or truancy, I _will_ put a stop to any vigilante activities until you can manage _at least_ a B average. I won’t have my son or his friends failing because some punk robbed a 7-11.”

“That seems fair,” Gwen says, turning to me, and I nod.

“Second, you keep this _absolutely secret_ ,” he says, staring at each of us in turn. “Do any of your friends know about this right now? Harry, have you told any girlfriends?”

“Why do you just assume it’s _me_ , Dad, c’mon,” Harry says, though he stares at his knees, unable to make eye contact with his dad.

“Harry,” Norman says. “I know you better than you think I do.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” he says, and I have to admire his commitment to the technical truth; he didn’t _tell_ Mary Jane, she just worked it out.

“Well, if you _have_ ,” Norman says, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe his son, “I would advise you to make absolutely sure they tell no one. If you have to buy silence, just let me know.”

“Right, fine,” Harry says, sounding exasperated. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” Norman says, his stern expression fading to the barest hint of a smile. “I do want you to know, though, Harry…I’m very proud of you. I’m…sure your mother would be, as well.”

Harry’s bravado deflates at this, and he just nods. “Yeah…um, thanks, Dad.”

I glance over at him and give him a smile. Would Uncle Ben be proud? Would Aunt May, if she found out? She’d probably have a full-on anxiety attack but, like…after that? Would she be proud, knowing that her surrogate son was a superpowered vigilante crime-fighter? I can’t help but think she might be, though also tremendously worried.

Would my parents be proud?

Dad was the one who believed that with great power came great responsibility. Uncle Ben told me so. Would he like knowing that his son found himself the winner of a superpower lottery and used said powers to swing around New York, beating up criminals and saving citizens in distress?

I really want to think he would. I want to think he’d get a kick out of it, that he’d even help cover for me with the occasional note to school explaining my absence.

The more logical part of me admits, though, that he would still be Dad, and Mom would still be Mom, and they would worry and tell me I shouldn’t go around endangering myself. But here’s Harry’s dad, agreeing to said endangerment because he knows it’s something his son is passionate about and truly believes it’s the right thing.

With great power, there must also come great responsibility.

Dad, is this what you had in mind when you coined that phrase?


	25. Chapter 25

“So, Norm wanted me to brief you on just how you ended up with these powers,” Tony says, leaning casually against Jarvis’s control panel, “and as much as I love hearing myself talk, and I do…I would also love the opportunity to test out Jarvis’s data-compiling abilities. Jarvis, please gather and deliver a comprehensive report on Project Solstice.”

“ _Gathering_ ,” Jarvis says, and the holo-display flashes a few screens of numbers, words, images, and half-second clips of videos, all while a spinning wheel shows that Jarvis is “working”. “ _Compiling report…. Complete. Project Solstice was a military-sponsored effort on the part of Oscorp Industries to create a genetically modified creature capable of absorbing radioactive energy. Project leaders eventually settled on spiders, with the belief that it would be possible for the spider to be made capable of producing a web able to absorb and eliminate radiation._

“ _Of the test group, only twelve spiders survived the first three rounds of irradiation, though further testing was rendered impossible when the subjects escaped last autumn. One subject was found deceased in the Oscorp parking garage, and only four have been recovered alive. The other seven have been confirmed deceased. The remaining subjects are being studied further in an attempt to discover the origins of the profound physical effects their bites have had on the human body._ ”

“Well done, Jarvis, I’m…so very impressed with me,” Tony says, tapping the control console like a man patting a dog on the head.

“ _Always a delight to stroke your already significant ego, sir_ ,” Jarvis says flatly.

“So, how did we end up with powers instead of dying or turning into giant spider monsters?” Harry asks. Behind us a new voice speaks, and we turn to see Doctor Connors, his new robotic arm looking so much like the real deal that I have to do a double-take before I see the blinking green lights along his forearm and adorning his fingers, probably for diagnostic purposes or something.

“In order to engineer spiders that survived the irradiation process, we enhanced them,” he said. “In fact, the three of you could be technically considered the next iteration of super-soldiers.”

“Super-soldiers?” Gwen asks, looking confused. Connors strolls around the couch, eyeing us.

“First of all, there’s a reason Jarvis wasn’t able to add this to his data,” he says. “It’s strictly off the public record, all on paper, no data in any computer. As you can guess, that makes it absolutely top-secret. Given your…involvement, Norman agreed that it would be prudent to tell you, but you must tell no one else.”

We all silently nod, saying nothing.

“I’m sure you heard the tale of the US Agent,” Connors says. “Natasha Romanoff defected to the United States in the early days of World War II and offered herself up as a guinea pig to Abraham Erskine and Project Rebirth, eventually becoming the hero America needed.”

“Yeah, but Dr. Erskine died,” I say. Uncle Ben was a fan of the US Agent, and there are even a few vintage comics of hers still preserved in plastic sleeves in the basement. Connors shakes his head.

“Every scientist leaves behind notes,” he says. “They were hard to find and even harder for Oscorp to obtain, but we found them, deciphered them, and were able to engineer the formula just as it was nearly seventy years ago.”

“So…why aren’t there a thousand US Agents running around out there?” I ask, gesturing out at New York, at the world.

“Because the process is prohibitively expensive and has wildly varied results,” Connor says walking over to Jarvis’s console. “Jarvis, cuppa tea?”

“ _Coming right up, Doctor_ ,” Jarvis says. Connors turns back to us with a sigh.

“I’m ashamed to say that I did pursue the super-soldier serum for a short time, in one of my many misguided attempts to regrow my arm,” he says with a wry look over at Tony. “And don’t you say a word; I know I was a fool.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Tony says, holding his hands up defensively.

“You’re _always_ going to say something,” Connors says, rolling his eyes and glancing back our way. “Our first round of human trials was…a resounding failure, and Norman had the whole thing shelved for a decade before Project Solstice came along. We tweaked the formula a bit to make it receptive to spider physiology, and it was a spectacular success. Of course, the applications were limited; their webs were immensely strong though difficult to replicate, and there was our brief foray into creating radiation-absorbent webs. We believe that last bit is where your powers came from. The serum allowed the spiders to survive the radiation, but as a result, they were mutated to the point that their bites injected you with a shot of….”

“Super-spider-soldier serum,” Tony says, pausing. “Super-spider-soldier serum, super-spider-soldier serum, supum spid—soldier that is a tongue-twister.”

I snicker, and Gwen laughs next to me, Connors turning to Tony with a little smirk.

“Basically,” he says, looking back at us. “Of course, even with the slightly higher success rate, the spider-produced serum was not without its complications, as you likely saw on the news. Some mutated like that monster, others gained powers similar to yours but went insane, and a few just…died. Radiation sickness. You three were the only known successes. Quite simply, you got lucky. We briefly toyed with the notion of attempting to replicate parameters of the bites, but the full scope of the results revealed that that wouldn’t be advisable.”

“And that’s why the future of super-soldiers is in technology and not genetic modification,” Tony says, gesturing over his shoulder. “The Iron Patriot armor. You throw that thing up against the US Agent, or against these three? No offense, I love what you’re doing, but you’d find yourselves…at least evenly matched.”

“You made another set of armor like the Goblin?” I ask eagerly. Scary as it was, that armor is bad _ass_ ; if he’s making more, I’ve got to see it. “Can we see?”

“Of course,” Tony says with a glance at Connors. “If you’re done with them, Curt?”

“Oh, yes, that was about the end of it,” he says. “Good luck out there, children.”

Tony pats Connors on the shoulder, standing and gesturing for us to follow. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, Parker. You made those web-shooter things of yours?”

“Oh…um, yeah,” I say. “They’re nothing spectacular – “

“They kind of _are_ ,” Gwen overrides me, bopping me playfully on the shoulder as we walk past the giant green set of armor to a smaller blue one with red stripes and a white star on the chest. “You’re way too humble, Pete.”

“She’s right,” Tony says with a look back at me, giving a silent little “tada” gesture at the armor. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’ve done something truly amazing. Trust me, I’ve done a lot.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Right, but if your ego gets as big as his, we’ll have a problem,” she says, giggling. “There’s a fine line between self-confidence and narcissism, and Tony Stark skips rope with it.”

Tony looks thoughtful for a moment. “I like that,” he says. “Mind if I drop that in my next Rolling Stone interview?”

“Cost you a thousand dollars,” Gwen jokes, and Tony just nods, reaching into his pocket and producing his wallet. “Oh my gosh, I wasn’t – Mr. Stark!”

“Buy your boyfriend something pretty,” he says, forcing a wad of bills into Gwen’s sweater pocket, and she just stares at him with wide eyes. “And please, call me Tony. Mister Stark was my father.”

I just chuckle at the exchange, but my attention is mostly on the Iron Patriot armor, which is a very impressive suit. It’s more or less human-sized, much more compact than the Goblin armor, and appears to have military-grade weapons mounted on every conceivable location. I’m no gun enthusiast, so I can’t name any of them, but it certainly looks like a capable war machine.

“Norm and I are presenting it to military next week,” Tony says, stepping up beside me. “This is just a prototype. If they like it, we’re designing one specifically for each branch.”

“So it responds to movement and moves along with the user,” I say, circling it. “It probably needs to be calibrated on a per-user basis, or you risk sluggish movement or broken – “

“Broken bones, that’s right,” Tony says. “You have quite the eye for this stuff.”

“I’m something of an enthusiast,” I confess. “I’d love to try making stuff like this myself, but I don’t have the resources. Wow, these are like the ones that fly the glider,” I say, looking closely at a series of small repulsor lifts along the legs and arms. “And these ones on the hands can probably be used for liftoff _and_ an improvised concussive weapon in combat, if ammo runs out or something. Hm, you know what would be neat? Like…vibranium lining in the arms to – “

“Reduce recoil,” Tony says, looking thoughtfully at me. “Thought of that, implemented it, but I’m impressed you worked it out.” He stares at me for a moment longer before nodding. “Jarvis, box up a workstation and send it to the Parker household.”

“ _At once, sir_.”

“I—what?” I falter, not sure if I heard right.

“I’m sending you all of the tools and equipment your average Oscorp scientist has access to,” he says, “which is nothing to sneeze at. Now you have no excuse not to stretch that big brain of yours to its limit.”

“But…that’s like thousands of dollars’ worth – “

“Please, don’t play the ‘I’m so humble, that’s too much money’ card,” Tony says, shaking his head. “I’m not doing this lightly, and if you happen to come up with anything you think is useful outside of being the spider-band, you better bring it here so I can pick it apart and make lots of money off of it. That can be you earning your keep if that’s so important.”

I blink, unable to really find anything worth protesting in that reasoning.

“You should be a politician,” I say, and Tony smirks.

“They don’t get to have any fun.”

 

That afternoon, I get home around the same time I would if I _had_ gone to school, heading down to the basement, where I’d taken to cleaning out Uncle Ben’s old Man Cave to try to cobble together one of my own. When I reach the bottom and round the corner to the little alcove, I stop dead.

“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself.

Uncle Ben’s old handmade table is still there, but on top of it is stacked a one of the most intricate and well-stocked chemistry sets I’ve ever seen. Beakers, phials, flasks, every conceivable container, along with Bunsen burners, an extensive collection of tools, scales, protective wear, and a cabinet stocked with chemicals and compounds. Nearby, a large toolbox holds all manner of more conventional tools like screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches, all kinds of wires, a socket wrench with about three dozen different attachments, a power drill with just as many, and even a soldering iron. _Another_ cabinet holds more wires, circuitry, fuses, capacitors, oscillators, potentiometers, coils, inductors, more parts than I can name, and to make a pretty package to build them all into, a 3D printer sits on its own cart.

“Hey, Pete,” Gwen’s voice comes from upstairs. “Dad’s gonna be staying at the station, so I’m gonna crash at your place for a few days.” The stairs creak as she walks down them, gasping when she sees the array before me. “Oh, holy…fuck….”

“Yeah,” I say, and I think I might actually be crying. “I’m…I’m gonna need coffee. Strong coffee. And…about ten hours of just being here with all of this.”

“I’ll make coffee,” Gwen says, patting me on the shoulder. She heads back upstairs, and I make my way to the cabinet, grabbing some goggles, gloves, and a work apron.

Time to do some science.


	26. Chapter 26

“I just wanna reiterate how terrible an idea I think this is,” I say.

“Like I said the last fourteen times, duly noted and disregarded,” Liam tells me, pinning a small microphone to my collar. “Mary Jane is helping pass out flowers, and you’re the only other one with a free period during announcements, so you’re the guy.”

“Why can’t you do it?” I ask. I can see my reflection slightly distorted in the camera lens. Why did Midtown High have to go all twenty-first century and start _video_ announcements?

“Because I had to do them _my_ freshman year, every day, and I hated every second of it,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s one of the perks of being an upperclassman. I get to boss around the newbies. Stay with the paper a couple more years, and it’ll be _you_ setting up some poor kid to sink or swim.”

“We’re on in thirty,” the school secretary says, shooting me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’ve seen plenty of kids just as nervous as you knock it out of the park.”

“How many more have made absolute fools of themselves?” I ask, and she just winks at me.

“No comment.”

Ugh. C’mon, Pete, you’ve fought of literal mobs of gang-bangers, clung to the ceiling of a luxury sports car doing a hundred down Madison Avenue, and you’ve had a gun leveled at your face more often than you’d care to admit.

Why does this feel like the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done?

“Just stick to the cards and be your usual charming self,” Liam says.

“I’m not sure we’re thinking of the same Peter Parker,” I say, and Liam smirks.

“Just like that,” he says, with another clap on the shoulder before walking out of frame. The secretary turns back to me and holds up a hand.

I’m not ready for this.

“Alright, Peter, in five…”

Not ready.

“Four…”

I stare at my cue cards, trying decipher words.

“Three…”

Mary Jane, we were supposed to be friends.

“Two…”

AAAAHHHH!

“One.”

“Good morning, Midtown High,” I say, gripping my cue cards with shaking hands and staring into the camera. “It’s Tuesday, February fourteenth, and well, hey, that means it’s Valentine’s Day. Cool. Make sure you and your valentine do something special today. Or don’t. I’m not the boss of you.”

What am I doing?

“So, today, you’ll notice that the sports clubs are passing out those nice flowers some of you bought for each other a month ago, which is why they’re making me do this instead of Mary Jane Watson, and if you don’t get one, hey…I care. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

I think it’s a reflex reaction to paralyzing nervousness; the sass comes out, just like in battle.

“Uuuum,” I flip to the next card, “this weekend’s the Valentine’s Day dance, and there’s still plenty of time to ask that certain special someone to go. I mean, unless they have a date already, in which case, you have my sympathies. Tickets can be bought in the main office, that’s ten dollars for a single’s ticket, fifteen for a couple. Hey, next card. Pshoo.”

I toss the one card aside, moving on to the next one.

“Sports! Signups are beginning for the Spring sportsball teams, so if you wanna do sports out there with the rest of the sportballers, go sign up. Hey, maybe _you’ll_ be the one passing out flowers next year. Um…if you don’t know which coach to talk to, you can ask in the office.”

I toss the next card aside, hearing the door to the office open.

“Uh-oh, students are reminded that all student vehicles must have a parking pass clearly visible in the mirror, and you can _not_ park anywhere but the designated student parking areas, hello, Mary Jane. Are you here to take over? Please say yes.”

Mary Jane is giggling as she stands behind the camera, shaking her head and walking up to me.

“Just doing my job today,” she says with a smirk, and she reaches into a box she’s carrying to produce a plastic package with a red flower in it. She places it on the desk in front of me, followed soon by a pink one, then a white one. “Okay, please continue.”

She steps out, and I look down at the flowers, then up at the camera. Liam gestures at the cards, tapping his watch.

I toss aside the car parking card, finding only one left.

“Today’s menu lunch is barbecue chicken sandwiches, oven fries, a garden salad, and carrot sticks,” I say limply, glancing at the flowers again. “Um…this concludes our announcements for the day, have a fantastic day.”

I glance down at the flowers again, shaking my head. “I can’t have charmed this many people somehow.”

 

Apparently, I have.

Settling into my seat in Study Hall to a chorus of congratulations on my unique approach to the morning announcements, I pull out the flowers I got and laboriously pin them to my shirt. Previous years, I’ve always gotten just one, a white friendship flower from Gwen, and one year a specially-ordered black one from Harry, who thought black flowers were “metal as fuck”. This year, Gwen’s is red, and there’s a note attached with it.

_Hey!_

_I wanted to think of something super romantic to write, but I tell you all the romantic stuff when I think of it, so you already know it. Happy first Valentine’s Day as a couple!_

_Love, Gwen_

Oh, Gwen, and your way with words. I check the pink one next, and my heart leaps when I recognize Jess’s handwriting on the note.

_Happy Valentine’s Day!_

_So, Gwen insisted I send you a flower, which is pretty cool of her. She even said I could send a red one, but I thought it would be in bad taste because I guess were technically exes, and…anyway. I’m trying really hard to think of something to write that’s not incredibly awkward, and it’s hard, especially since we chat like every day. I guess I’ll just say I miss you a bunch, and we’ll definitely see each other again._

_Love, Jess_

Aw, Jess. That really is awesome that Gwen did that. I guess the ex and the girlfriend _can_ get along. Under very specific circumstances, but still.

Now for the white one, though I have an inkling who it might be from. This inkling proves correct when I recognize Mary Jane’s loopy handwriting and signature purple pen.

_Hi, Pete!_

_I was trying to think of how I would thank you for being such a really awesome friend to me, and I thought, well, I’ll add to the flower collection! I know you’re getting at least two, so here’s another. You’re really great, and at the risk of coming on too strong, I consider you like my best friend. A lot of people have been giving me shit for quitting the cheerleading squad and not dressing like a fashion model every day, but you’ve been really supportive, and so have Gwen and Harry. If I haven’t asked you in person after writing this, we should hang out sometime, just the two of us! If it’s okay with Gwen. I mean, it should be, she’s pretty laid-back about that stuff. I’m ramble-writing! Bye! Happy V-Day!_

_MJ_

I smile and tuck the note in a folder with the other two. Mary Jane is turning out to be a really good friend, and she’s definitely making me regret my initial assumption that she was some vapid tease or something. We’ve had some pretty deep conversations on Facebook about life and love and happiness. Of course, she’s also chatted my eyes off about all of the Netflix shows she binge-watches, but there’s nothing wrong with being way into House of Cards.

There’s no homework from the first few classes of the day to get the jump on, so I just scribble on a blank page, sketching out a design I’d been pondering for some kind of augmented-reality goggles. It’s a real possibility now, with all the crazy tech Tony gave me. It would be a simple matter of an ultra-thin LED display, maybe fitted between two lenses. Wires through the mask, maybe keep the control chip at the base of the neck?

It’s worth looking into, at least. I’ve already rigged up a new set of webshooters that I can’t wait to take for a spin.

By the time the bell rings, the page is covered in notes and doodles, some so tiny it takes all of my enhanced sight to be able to see them. I collect my notebook and stand, a few kids waving as they pass by me.

“Dude, you were hilarious,” some upperclassman says as he walks by.

“Peter, why don’t you do the announcements all the time?” a girl asks, giving me a wide smile. “That was funny!”

I thank them quietly and step out into the hall, letting the crowd carry me toward my locker. I need to deposit a couple of books before grabbing the cumbersome brick of a textbook we use for Chemistry. As I make the exchange, Gwen strolls up, giving me that exasperated smile she likes to give me when I’ve done something stupid but funny.

“Did you really channel your super alter-ego in response to _social_ stress?” she asks in a wry voice, and I shrug.

“When I get nervous, I sass,” I say. She giggles, shaking her head.

“You are too cute,” she says softly, her fingers lacing between mine as I shut my locker, and she tugs me toward the Chemistry lab. “Oh, good haul this year.”

She points at the flowers on my chest, and I shrug.

“I guess I’m more charming than I give myself credit for,” I say. Gwen quirks an eyebrow.

“I thought you were doing it on purpose,” she says, looking skeptical at my confused look. “You really weren’t?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, and she giggles.

“Oh, Peter,” she says, bumping my shoulder as we walk. “Ever since you…became Spider-Man,” she mouths that part against my ear, making me shiver, “you’ve had this sort of…confidence, almost like a…swagger. And I think people are glad you’re out of the, um…the funk you were in before. I mean, you had every reason to be _in_ a funk, but still…. Now, you’re sort of this enigmatic cool nerdy type. Like Tony Stark, but in high school and not as narcissistic.”

“ _No one_ is as narcissistic as Tony Stark,” I say, and Gwen giggles. We reach the classroom and take our usual seats just as Harry strolls in, settling across the aisle with his partner but turning to us.

“Parker, dude, why didn’t you ever pull out that charismatic shit in our YouTube vids?” he asks, grinning and shaking his head. “That was awesome! ‘Hey, sportsballers, come sign up for some sportsball!’ And sympathizing with the lonely hearts like me. I felt like you really reached out to me.”

“I’m just here for the people,” I say, and Harry laughs.

“Dude, you need to do the announcements like every day,” he says. “At least trade it off with MJ.”

“I will…think about it,” I say, looking over as Gwen taps me on the shoulder, sliding her iPad over.

“Check it out, we made Google news,” she says, and Harry stands, heading over to peek down at the tablet as well. One of the trending headlines is a bout we had with some guy called Hammerhead, who is very aptly named, as the first thing he did was attempt to head butt Gwen. Thankfully, Gwen’s super-intense spider sense got her out of the way, and he instead he left a giant skull-shaped dent in a mailbox.

We took him a bit more seriously after that.

Luckily for us, he’s as dumb as his power implies, and we got him to monologue long enough for Gwen to web his feet up.

It was a slow day.

Even so, it’s always nice to make the news, and Google is usually pretty fair to us. They’re always quick to point out how destructive our fights can be, but they also stress that we do put away bad guys, and petty crime has seen a noticeable downturn in New York.

The more sensationalist Daily Bugle, however, seems to be on some kind of anti-vigilante agenda, painting us in a universally negative light. Sadly, it’s a popular news source among the reactionary middle-aged conservatives looking for something to be angry at, and J. Jonah Jameson, the owner of the paper, has certainly steered that irrational hatred right at us.

Ass.

 Still, at least among people our age and the more informed young-adult demographic, we’re a hit, and we’ve even seen some unofficial merchandise popping up. Flash Thompson, in particular, seems to own every fan-made piece of Spider-Trio swag in existence.

Not a bad beginning to our career.

Chemistry commences, and we’re given an in-class reading assignment with a few questions at the end. We’re allowed to work in pairs and chat _quietly_ (Mr. Wyler even stresses the word), but we have to stay at our desks and keep the chat between partners.

At least my partner is Gwen, and between the two of us, we knock out the questions without even having to read the assignment.

Some of us actually find Chemistry fascinating even without school demanding we learn it.

“So, this dance on Saturday,” Gwen says as she scribbles down the answer to number three.

“Yeah?” I prompt her.

“It sounds really stupid,” she says with a small frown. “I mean, I know I invited you, but that was kinda just for….”

“To enjoy the feeling of being _able_ to invite me without the whole awkward ‘Oh we’re just going as friends.’ thing?” I supply for her, and she grins at me.

“I’m dating Sherlock Holmes, I swear,” she says, giggling softly.

“Nah, I’m more like…Gibbs, from NCIS,” I say.

“You’re actually nothing at all like Gibbs,” Gwen says with a dubious little smile. “I think you’re just…Peter Parker. You’re enough without having to be another character.”

“I’m actually flattered,” I say. “Anyway, lame dance.”

“Right,” Gwen says, getting back on track. “Um…we should totally just not go. I hate dancing. And crowds.”

“Same,” I shrug. “Wanna just…patrol that night or something?”

“Honestly, patrolling with you, just the two of us,” Gwen says, smiling sweetly at me, “it’s probably the most fun I have in my life right now.”

“I guess rooftop skyline views can be pretty romantic,” I agree. “And the constant adrenaline rush from being superheroes certainly sets…a mood.”

Gwen blushes, poking me in the side. “I never see you complaining about twenty-minute rooftop make-out breaks.”

“I’m sure you never will,” I quip back, and Gwen sticks her tongue out at me. I reach up and poke it, and she snaps her teeth playfully at my hand.

“Nom, I’ma eat your finger,” she says, and I let a theatrical gasp.

“No, my girlfriend has turned to cannibalism, and I will be her first victim,” I say, clutching my hands to my chest. Gwen snickers, squeaking when the teacher speaks from behind her, surprising both of us.

“Parker, Stacy, I assume you’re flirting because you’re already done with the assignment,” he says, peering at our paper and freezing for a moment before sighing. “Of course, you actually _are_. Why aren’t you two in an AP course?”

“Way too much homework,” Gwen says.

“We’ve got a lot of afterschool stuff going on,” I add. “Very personally important.”

“Well, I would still consider it,” he says. “With your grades, you could start doing Junior year coursework tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s flattering – “

“Junior year _college_ coursework,” he smoothly cuts across us, strolling away. “Carry on, but I don’t want any nookie going on in my classroom.”

“Well,” Gwen says as he leaves. “He sure has a high opinion of us.”

“Who says nookie anymore?”

 

It’s a chilly afternoon as we change into our costumes in our usual secluded alleyway after school. It’s not glamorous, but the little store it’s behind has been closed for years, so it’s not exactly a high-traffic area.

“Woah, new web-shooters?” Harry asks as I slip the items in question around my hands, up to my wrists.

“Yeah, I refined the formula a bit and added a couple new functions,” I say, wiggling my fingers around. “The fingertips of these fingers,” I wiggle my index and middle finger and thumb, “have little electrical diodes that charge when I touch my pinkie and ring finger here.” I demonstrate, and the fingers crackle with a charge.

“Taser,” Gwen says, and I nod. “Pete, that’s awesome.”

“I also made a new web formula that fires in a small sphere,” I say, tapping a new web cartridge on the wrist of my gloves. “Like that less-lethal ammo cops use. All the pain of getting shot without the exsanguination and lead poisoning.”

“Tell me you showed those to Stark,” Harry says, his grin disappearing under his mask as he pulls it on.

“I did, actually,” I say. “He told me he’s glad it didn’t take long to put his gift to good use but I should give him something he can sell.”

Gwen rolls her eyes before pulling her own mask on. “I think that might actually be a compliment, coming from him.”

I hold my hands out, staring up at the roof of the building we so often use as our takeoff point. The mask is on, the costume protecting me from most of the bite of the brisk wind, and the city is sprawled out around us, ready for three idiots who have no clue what they’re doing to make it a better place.

Leaping onto the wall, I scale up in a speedy crawl, wiggling my fingers again, hoping these new web-shooters work. I haven’t actually done more than a few tests in my new basement room (on day two, I simply dragged my mattress and computer down to the basement, successfully completing my Science Grotto), but every device needs a field test.

“If these things fuck up, I’m gonna need you to catch me,” I say to Gwen, who just snorts a little laugh out.

“Got your back,” she says. We dash to the edge of the building, and I hold my hand out as I jump over the side, fingers curling over my palm in the familiar motion.

_THWIP!_

“Science, bitch!” I yell as I swing down and fall into the familiar motions, swooping along the streets. Below me, I hear car horns honking, and a few shouts are audible.

“Yo, Spidey!”

“Black Widow, I love you!”

“Spider-Man!”

“Tarantula, arm-wrestle me!”

He’d probably rip your arm off purely by accident, bud.

Before long, the office buildings give way to high-rise businesses, which are soon replaced by full-on skyscrapers, and we’re in Manhattan proper, the streets shrinking below us as the higher buildings allow for a bit more liftoff. The noise around us changes as well, from a low burbling bustle to a cacophony of car horns, the steady hum of passing trains, and the distant echo of a city with the population of a small nation all crammed into a small coastal island, carried and bounced around by the buildings around us until it stops being a noise and just becomes a sensation experienced by one’s entire being.

I love it all.

Except the smell.

“Hey!” Gwen shouts as we swing, and I find a nearby billboard, landing on the supersized face of some toothpaste model. Gwen lands next to me, and Harry _whumps_ nearby. “Hear that?”

I strain my ears, and I do hear something off amid the noise around us. It sounds like the bells at school, but sustained. An old alarm doing its very best to alert anyone listening that something’s wrong.

“Let’s check it out,” I say, trying to listen for the direction it’s coming from. “Uuuuuuh, that way.”

I point west, and we leap off, feeling the rush of air whipping past, the surge of adrenaline at the notion that we’re about to get into a dustup with someone potentially dangerous. Is this how a police officer feels responding to a call? How a fireman feels as the engine speeds toward the scene?

Would they look at me and approve? Captain George Stacy sure doesn’t, but that doesn’t account for the other officers patrolling the streets of New York. Would they pull up to a scene, see us, and sigh with relief or exasperation?

As we land on the rooftop of the building clanging away, I realize that it’s not about anyone’s approval. It’s about knowing we did the right thing. I’m not here for anyone else; I’m here for me.

And for whoever’s taking whatever set off this alarm.

“Well, well, along came a spider,” a sultry female voice says, and I look around, seeing no one. “And another and another, ‘til there were three beside her.”

“Widow?” I ask.

“Not me,” Gwen says, glancing around as well. She tenses, turning and jabbing her wrist out.

_THAWP!_

A soft grunt is heard before, with a _fzt_ noise, a woman appears nearby, falling onto her side with her ankles wrapped together. At first glance, she’s…well Harry’s reaction of “Dayum, girl, how you doing?” is all that needs to be said, really. She’s wearing a skintight black bodysuit adorned with various gadgets, some of them I can tell are incredibly hi-tech and probably stolen. The most curious accessory of hers, though, is the set of what look like cat ears perched on her head, though I suspect even those are some sort of long-range listening device. Her eyes sparkle behind a set of orange-tinted goggles, which fade to clear as she looks at all of us.

“Hey, now, is that any kind of first impression to make?” the woman asks, pouting up at me. “You know guys aren’t into the jealous type,” she says to Gwen, who huffs behind her mask.

“Guys also aren’t really into thieves,” she says.

“You aren’t talking to the right guys, then,” she says with a husky chuckle, turning to me and winking. “Or maybe you guys aren’t meeting the right girls?”

“I met the right girl a very long time ago,” I say, and the woman smirks.

“Smooth as butter,” she says as she staggers to her feet, tugging fruitlessly at the bindings on her ankles while Harry brazenly checks out her ass.

“Wait, you’re the Black Cat, aren’t you?” I say, and the woman straightens up, looking up at us with an impish smile.

“Guilty,” she says, shrugging sheepishly with her arms outstretched.

“You’re part of the Superior Six!” Gwen says pointing an accusing finger at her.

“Formerly,” Black Cat says, shaking her head and peering cross-eyed at Gwen’s finger. “I left after Octavius dropped one too many speeches about world domination and Darwinism and whatnot. Guy obviously traded a few levels in sanity for intelligence.”

“And all you wanna do is steal, like a respectable citizen,” I say, and she fixes me with a petulant look.

“I only steal from bad guys,” she says, sounding like a kid who only took _one_ cookie, promise. “This guy, here,” she points down at the building, “works for the Silvermane family, runs a prostitution ring, _and_ had data on all of Silvio Manfredi’s cybernetic augmentations, in addition to lots of other nice things. You’re telling me a guy like that doesn’t deserve to have some stuff come up missing?”

“That information should go to the police,” Gwen says. “They’ve been after Manfredi for years.”

“And that money should go to a charity or something,” I say. “You can talk about robbing from the rich bad guys, but the gesture is a little lost if you don’t give it to people that need it.”

She gives me a sardonic little smile.

“Aren’t you just so…pure?” she says. “It’s actually kinda cute.”

“What are we doing with her?” Harry asks, circling around behind Black Cat. “Leave her for the cops?”

“Hey, hey, let’s not get hasty,” she says, tugging again at the webs around her ankles. “Alright, tell you what. Here.” She holds out a thumb drive, and I gingerly reach out and take it. My spider-sense doesn’t even tickle as she gives it to me. “That’s all the information on Silvermane’s fancy tech _and_ archives of his office’s surveillance footage, probably showing him doing lots of bad things. Should make it really easy to take him down. My gift to you, because I’m not gonna lie, I kinda like what you’ve got going on.”

“But you’re a thief,” Gwen says, shifting her weight from foot to foot like she’s ready to fight at a moment’s notice. “Why should we cut you lose just because you gave us one piece of what _may_ be intel? How do we know this isn’t a blank flash drive?”

“I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it,” she says, smirking, and she leaps back, flying over the edge of the building, leaving behind the torn remains of Gwen’s webbing. We run for the edge of the building, but she’s already reengaged whatever cloaking device she had going, because she’s gone.

“Well…I like her,” Harry says, and I can tell from her stance that Gwen is rolling her eyes at him.

“Yeah, because she’s an oozing ball of sex appeal,” she says, turning to me and stalking toward me. I hold my hands defensively.

“Hey, I was on your – “ she cuts me off with a little hug, squeezing me tightly. I look at Harry over her shoulder. “Haha, I get a hug.”

“’I met the right girl a long time ago’,” Gwen repeats after me. “That was so cute.”

“And true,” I say. She giggles, pulling my mask up enough to expose my mouth, doing the same to hers and planting a little kiss on my lips.

“More where that came from tonight,” she says in a singsong voice as she tugs our masks back into place.

“Can we go before I get diabetes from you two?” Harry asks, sounding equal parts amused and exasperated. “I don’t think we need to go making spider-babies right here on the roof.”

Gwen turns and smacks him in the shoulder. “Don’t be a perv,” she says. “Like you didn’t want make spider-kittens with Miss Chesty-Cat.”

“I’m not ashamed of what I am,” Harry says with a shrug, trotting toward the edge of the building and reaching into his bag, pulling out the police scanner and switching it on.

“Alright, let’s see what worms are fucking up our Big Apple tonight,” he says.

“ _…ten-sixty in progress at Wells Fargo at 463 Broadway and Grand, all officers please –_ “

“Armed robbery,” Gwen says, glancing around. “It’s not far. Few blocks that way.”

“Spider-Friends, web out!” I say.

“Stop trying to make the Optimus Prime thing happen,” Harry says, shaking his head as we head for the edge of the rooftop. “It’s just not gonna catch on.”

“I can dream.”


	27. Chapter 27

We arrive to a scene of utter chaos. As we take in the scene below us, Gwen gasps in shock.

“Oh my gosh….”

The Rhino is back, and it’s clear he’s gotten a few upgrades, looking much more like some kind of giant mechanized robot than a guy in a suit. He would probably tower over Harry’s dad in his fancy suit of armor. Along with him is a man in a slightly smaller suit, though that’s hardly comforting, as the eight-foot monstrosity that looks vaguely reminiscent of a bear is throwing stop signs, mailboxes, whatever he can lift, at police vehicles like rocks.

That must be Black Cat’s replacement.

“This is gonna be a tough one,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “Stay on your toes, let’s watch each other’s backs. Tarantula, you take the bear guy.”

“Not the Rhino?” he asks, glancing at me, and I shake my head.

“I’ve tangled with him before, I know what to look out for,” I say. “You take the bear. Widow, think you can – “

“We have company,” Gwen says softly, glancing wildly around, and I hear a purring laughter.

“Very good, little girl,” a familiar voice says, and we see Jackal stroll out from the little building that houses the roof-access stairs. He’s four-legged, pacing left to right like a cat that’s cornered a mouse. “I wonder how you’re able to do that, to detect trouble before it even happens. Just moments ago, I was thinking of…pouncing you.”

“That’s not creepy at all,” Gwen says, tapping me on the shoulder. “Go, before those two tear up anything else. I’ve handled this guy before.”

“Keep an eye out for more of them,” I say, hopping onto the cement border on the rooftop. Down below, the two heavy-hitters seem to having too much fun heavy-hitting to worry about running away, smashing up the street in some kind of testosterone-fueled bro-date. I leap down, webbing onto a traffic light and swinging up, rounding it as I hold out my wrist.

_THWIP!_

A wad of webbing covers the Rhino’s eyes, and he yells in rage, dropping the dumpster he was carrying and reaching up to scrabble at his face.

“Spider!” he yells in his thick Russian accent, glaring at me as I land on top of an overturned car. “Time for rematch, yes!?”

“You know, all you had to do was call,” I say. “This whole thing feels like a cry for attention that was just wholly unnecessary.”

“Aleksei is not holy man,” he says, sounding briefly puzzled, and I sigh.

“Right, I forgot, giant dumb carnival man,” I say, putting on a thick faux-Russian accent of my own. “Rhino ugh-ugh fight Spider, yes no?”

Seeming even more puzzled, Rhino just lowers his horn, shifting onto all fours and charging at me. The ground rumbles as he tears toward me with surprising speed. Still, he’s not quite fast enough, and as my spider-sense chimes, I leap, spinning in the air to land on his back. Holding on tightly, I feel a jolt as he collides with a wall, and with a bellow of rage, he starts bucking, trying to fling me away.

“Get off of me!” he yells. “I will crush you!”

“That’s not really incentive to get off, then, is it?” I ask, raising a hand. I curl my fingers in and hear the soft crackle as my taser-hand activates. I jab it into his neck, but all I hear is a small grunt as it fizzles out.

Well, after last time, it’s no surprise he probably insulated himself.

“Get! Off! Of! RHINO!” The disgruntled Russian whirs and clanks as he shifts to his bipedal form, and my spider-sense jolts me as he slams his back toward a wall. I jump up and cling to the wall, feeling it shudder at the force of his impact.

“Jeez, haven’t you ever heard the saying?” I ask, leaping away as he makes a grab at me. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine?”  


“I will _break_ your back!” he bellows.

“Wow, Rhino, that’s borderline clever for you,” I say, and he lowers onto all fours, scraping his foot across the ground. I mime holding a flag out next to me. “Toro! Toro!”

He charges, and my spider-sense clangs again, warning me of his impact. I get ready to jump…as he skids to a halt? Why is my spider-sense still –

_Shunk!_

Ow!

Something jabs into my shoulder, and too late, I jump away, landing and staggering a bit as my shoulder sears with pain.

“I told you a long time ago, spider-runt,” a new voice says. “You’re in way over your head.”

“Gargan,” I say, looking up at him, my eyes having a bit of trouble focusing on him. “Max Gargan.”

“It’s Scorpion now,” he says, Rhino looming over his shoulder. “It’s a whole theme we’re running with.”

“I admire your commuhm…commitment to cuhsisten…consistency,” I say, watching as…something curls around his legs, a long metal tail of sorts with a wicked-looking needle at the end.

“You like the hardware?” he asks, noticing my gaze. “Custom-made. Now I really _am_ the Scorpion, stinger at all. It delivers my own special mix of toxins. After all, what’s a drug-maker besides a chemist in the making?”

“Alright, H-Heisenberg,” I say, staggering. I’m in trouble. He got me with something. I should’ve realized that by now. My mind is moving…sluggishly. It’s like being drunk times ten. I shake my head, trying to clear it. The two are just watching for now, Scorpion looking puzzled, expectant.

“You should be out by now,” he grumbles, his tail twitching and rising up behind him again. “A dose like that would knock _me_ out. A little runt like you would be lucky to be alive.”

He charges forward, and I scramble to get out of the way, just managing to roll clear. My spider-sense doesn’t ping until the needle is jabbing at the concrete next to me, and I try to push myself up from the ground before I realize I’m lying on my back. I may be conscious, but if someone doesn’t help soon, I’m –

_Shunk!_

The pain doesn’t even register, just an impact in my other shoulder, and I manage to roll onto my hands and knees, shifting woozily up to a kneeling position before I flop onto my back. The ground is so comfy, and I can’t really think of any reason not to just take a little nap….

 

“You shouldn’t take it personally.”

“I’m not taking it personally, I’m more offended on behalf of the soldiers whose _lives_ are apparently not worth a few million dollars’ investment,” Tony said, sighing as he leaned back in his seat. “I even told them, the Iron Patriot has _all_ the bells and whistles; we can cut the price in half and still have a damn good suit.”

“It makes no sense, really,” Carol said with a sip of her Irish coffee. “I mean, yeah, a tank is way cheaper, but it also requires a small team to pilot and isn’t exactly as efficient as a suit of armor. Two of those on the field, you don’t even _need_ tanks.”

“Well, Senator Stern would disagree,” Tony said. He sighed and shook his head. “Ever since he got put on that committee, it’s been like pulling teeth to get them to take anything from us.”

“Almost like he’s _trying_ to stop you from supplying them,” Carol said, canting her head to the side.

“You make it sounds so nefarious,” Tony said, quirking an eyebrow. “Didn’t I read this book? Tom Clancy? Or Robert Ludlum? Not…or is it John Green? I _cried_ at that part in _Looking for Alaska_ – “

“You joke – “

“I _always_ joke – “

“I would just…keep an eye on Stern,” Carol said, giving him an uncharacteristically serious look. “There are a lot of weak-willed men in positions like that, men that can be manipulated by enough money or power.”

“You sound like you know a little more than you’re letting on,” Tony said, leveling his gaze on her. “Miss Danvers?”

“I spent a good deal of time in the military, Tony,” she said. “I’ve met all types, and sadly, I’ve noticed that the type that go for positions like Senator Stern’s are usually the types that don’t deserve them, and good men, the type that _should_ be senators and leaders, are out there risking their necks like Parker and his friends or the Terrific Trio.”

“Sometimes I get the urge to jump into a suit myself and just…go blow up some bad guys,” Tony said, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the Iron Goblin armor. “Parker’s right. The normal paths are too clogged up with self-serving politico types that only do good if it’s profitable to them. More and more, it seems like the only way to do good is to…suit up.”

“ _Distress beacon activated_ ,” Jarvis said suddenly, and the holo-display blazed to life, showing a 3D map of New York. “ _Triangulating location…codename Black Widow has activated her distress beacon at 463 Broadway and Grand, Wells Fargo Bank._ ”

“News reports in the area?” Tony asked, standing and making his way over to the console.

“ _A recent theft attempt by several members of the criminal group known as the Superior Six was reported twenty-seven minutes ago_ ,” Jarvis reported as several live newsfeeds came up on the screen, followed shortly by a blinking phone icon. “ _Incoming call from Gwendolyne Stacy’s mobile phone._ ”

“Put it through,” Tony said, and a picture of Gwen’s face appeared onscreen. “Gwen, is – “

“Tony!” Gwen’s voice came, and Tony was startled to realize she was sobbing. “Tony, please send help, please! They took Peter! Please!”

“Jarvis, remote activate Parker’s tracking device and triangulate location, I want to know where he is,” Tony said quickly. “Gwen, stay there, okay?”

“I’m so scared, Tony! W-what if they do something – “

“Gwen, we’re going to find him,” Tony said. “Where’s Harry?”

“He’s…he’s here, he’s fine, but…oh God, Tony, if anything happens to Peter…”

“ _Tracking device located, last moving eastbound_ ,” Jarvis said. “ _It appears they’re using a signal jammer, however, as I’m having difficulty triangulating a precise location. Shall I dispatch the nearest Chameleon bots to intercept?_ ”

“Send a car to pick up Gwen and Harry,” Tony said. “And then I want a feed of traffic cams in the area at the time of the kidnapping, cross-reference with Parker’s last confirmed location. I want to know what car they’re driving.”

“What’s the plan?” Carol asked, and Tony turned to her.

“We’re gonna Google them.”

 

_New York City always looks so beautiful in the early-morning sun. So many millions of different days just beginning, opportunities to be taken, lives to be changed, people to meet and learn about and know. And they all need my help. There’s a lot of ugliness out there, and I need to pretty it up._

_“Beautiful, isn’t it?”_

_I look over at Uncle Ben, nodding._

_“They need ya, Pete,” he says. “You’re gonna save the world.”_

_“I’ll do my best,” I say, and suddenly, Uncle Ben is Tony Stark._

_“As long as your best earns me some money,” he says, grinning jokingly at me._

_I look back out at New York, which is lit up for miles around, glowing so bright that you can’t see the stars. I’d love to go visit the countryside sometime, see the stars._

_I hear a loud clanking as Norman walks up behind me in his armor._

_“Did you get the sample?” he asks._

My eyes snap open.

“I did, and I’ve already extracted five viable specimens from it,” a vaguely familiar voice says. The words seem to echo a bit in my head, like my ears are hearing them faster than my brain can make them out.

“Do we need the boy anymore?”

“We should keep him for at least another week, until I can be sure at least one subject will survive,” the familiar voice says.

My head feels so heavy. I try to brush my bangs away from my face, but…my hands won’t move. I give a tug and find my wrists bound, along with my ankles. I blink blearily and shake my head, the memories coming back. Gargan, whatever knockout drug he hit me with…. So I’ve been kidnapped.

Well, it was only a matter of time, I suppose.

At least my head is clearing. I manage to lift my gaze and find myself in a small room that looks straight out of a horror movie. Concrete floors, cinderblock walls, gloomy lighting, and a general dankness that chills me slightly.

Okay.

Okay, Parker, relax. Things could be worse.

I really don’t know how, but they could.

“Well, well, look who’s awake. Gargan said you were surprisingly resilient to toxins.”

On the wall to my left, a gated door slides open, and I hear a _tick-tick-tick-tick_ sound as a…man glides into view. Or, he looks like he was once a fairly normal guy. Somewhere along the line, he lost all of his limbs, and now his torso has been fitted into some kind of…contraption that encases most of pelvic area. Four spider-like metal legs sprout out of the bottom, the source of the ticking sound I heard, and in place of arms, he’s given himself four thick metal cybernetic replacements, like Dr. Connors’s but much less subtle. As I watch, he extends his upper right arm, which stretches out to shut the gate, flexing into a tentacle of sorts before retracting back into its former shape.

“Go, go, Gadget extendo-arm,” I say, my voice hoarse. The man steps into view, revealing a barrel-chested torso wrapped in a lab coat. The light reflects off of a set of mirror-black goggles, and his hair is cut into a dated bowl style that only enhances the whole “mad scientist” thing he has going.

“They told me you thought yourself funny,” he says, his voice slightly nasally. He folds his upper set of arms as he surveys me, the lower ones clasping their hands behind his back.

“I mean, _I_ think I’m funny,” I say. “Apparently it annoys the crap out of most other people, but those people usually end up being the scum of New York, like yourself, so I’m not really too upset. What’s it like to have eight limbs, though? Did you have to teach yourself to walk again on four legs? How independent are your arms? How do you not accidentally use one set instead of the other or both at once? I bet you have some kind of chip that kinda translates your brainwaves into commands for them or something. I think having eight limbs would just get confusing after a while, myself, even if it would fit with my whole theme. I mean – “

“You really are annoying,” he says flatly. “Still, you have a fledgling grip of just what an achievement these cybernetics are, so I must begrudge you some respect. You’ve likely figured this out already, but I am Otto Octavius, Spider-Man.”

I pull at the bindings on my arms, but they’ve erred on the side of caution and locked thick metal bands around them, holding me to the chair.

“And what exactly do you want with me, Mr. Octavius?” I say, smirking at the expected reaction. As expected, he scuttles closer, looming over me with a sneer.

“That is _Doctor_ , boy,” he says, bristling at me. “It’s no mere moniker, it is a title I earned through years of dedicated study. And quite frankly, I have plans for you, plans that involve you remaining alive for at least a week, possibly longer. Count yourself lucky, for the time being.”

I tug at the bindings again, feeling only a small bubble of panic at his words. “Okay, and after that?” I ask, stalling for time.

“Well, once I’m finished, you will be…disposed of,” he says, grinning. “I’m sure Gargan or Sytsevich would love to do the honors. Even Toomes has a bit of a grudge with you for the prison time you’ve cost him.”

“Yeah, I’m good at pissing off criminals,” I admit, tugging at the bindings again. “A hazard of the lifestyle.”

“Those bindings are strong enough to hold a silverback gorilla,” Octavius says flatly, scuttling back for the door. “You just sit tight. I’ll send Gargan in to knock you out shortly.”

“Oh, I’m already here, Doc,” Gargan’s voice says as he walks past Octavius. Tail twitching, he cracks his knuckles. “Looks like I forgot the drugs, though, darn it. I’ll have to knock you out the old-fashioned way.”

“I need him alive, Gargan,” Octavius says in a warning tone, and Gargan smirks.

“Oh, this kid can take a beating,” he says, glancing down at me with a mockingly friendly smile as Octavius leaves. “Can’t ya, kid? In fact, I’m hoping that durability I hear so much about keeps you conscious for a while. I’m looking forward to some quality time together.”

“Could you be _any_ creepier?” I ask him, and he just snorts, reaching up to pat me on the cheek. My spider-sense goes off seconds before he cracks me across the jaw, my teeth splitting the inside of my cheek open, and I spit out a mouthful of blood.

“You know what fight or flight is, Max?” I ask. “General Adaptation Syndrome?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” he asks, sneering at me.

“Your body reacts to stressful influences, like the news that you’re gonna be used up and tossed aside like a bottle of ketchup, or that a thirty-something Mexican drug dealer has a real hate-boner for you, by producing adrenaline,” I say in a level voice. “Your locus coeruleus is activated, producing norepinephrine and, more importantly in this scenario, kicks your nucleus accumbens into gear, which increases motivation and, as a result, amps up that will to live most beings tend to have.”

I yank my arms up, and I’m rewarded with a groaning of metal as they tear through the bindings, and my spider-sense chimes. This time, I’m ready, standing to dodge that tail of his and grabbing it. I tear the end off and tossing it aside with a clatter of metal on the concrete floor. Stepping forward, I tug my legs free of the clamps around my ankles and dodge another punch from him. Finally, I cock back a fist and send him sprawling.

“This is collectively called the anti-shock phase,” I say in a heated voice, “and you know how I mentioned adrenaline? That stimulates muscle function, increasing it substantially. I’m already capable of lifting a minivan, Max. What do you think I can do now?”

Oh, wait, he’s unconscious.

I was about to tell him about stage two, resistance.

I spot my web-shooters sitting on a table nearby and grab them, sliding them onto my hands as the door slams open. Octavius has apparently come back to check on the commotion.

“Doc!” I say, holding my hands out.

_THWUP-THWUP!_

The impact webbing smacks him squarely in the chest, and he grunts in pain, staggering back as I surge forward, pressing my pinkie and ring fingers to my palms.

_Zzzzt! SHAF!_

I press my fingers to his chest, and I’m rewarded with a yell of pain. Octavius’s body convulses as 1,200 volts of electricity surge through him, causing him to collapse.

“There are so many shock puns I can make right now, I just can’t pick,” I say, leaping over him and looking around. I’m in a hallway of some kind, and there are other doors like the one to my cell lining it. What the hell is this place?

I run along the hallway, reaching a barred window and peering out.

I can see stars outside.

I must be really far away from New York.

Turning back, I see Octavius’s form shifting and lifting back to his feet.

“Foolish child,” he grumbles, turning toward me. “Did you think I hadn’t anticipated every form of attack? You may knock me down, but I will always, always get back up.”

Scuttling down a long dark hallway lined with barred doors in a dimly lit concrete building, I have to admit he looks like something right out of a horror story.

But I’m no defenseless damsel or clueless muscle-head.

“Then I’ll just have to keep knocking you down,” I say, running at him and holding my hands out.

_THWIP-THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!_

I fire all cylinders, unloading probably half of my web fluid at him, wrapping his legs, his arms, his face, his chest, pinning him to every wall I can and leaving just enough room that I can leap over him. It won’t hold him for long, but I see a door at this end of the hall.

I also see Max Gargan, stumbling from the room I was in.

“Jeez, how hard do I have to punch you guys!?” I yell, and he charges at me.

“You fucking punaaaahhh!”

_Zzzzt! SHAF!_

“You didn’t know I have tasers!” I sing back at him as I keep running. I burst out of the door, finding myself in a small grassy clearing before a forest. I’ve never even _seen_ an actual forest. Trees in the park, sure, but this is the kind of dark forest where like wolves or bobcats or Bigfoot lives.

I really _am_ nowhere near New York City.

I hear the telltale ticking behind me and remember that Octavius is after me.

“You insufferable brat!” he yells.

“There it is!” I yell back, hopping onto the wall and climbing up. “They always resort to name-calling!”

The wall shudders as he drags himself up the side of the building, but I’m much faster, already climbing onto the roof and looking around for a road or something. All around is a sea of trees that rustle softly in a chilly evening wind, with a small winding gap that spans off into the distance, probably for a dirt path.

This isn’t looking good.

“Where are you off to, young Mr. Spider?” a voice says, and the Jackal leaps onto the rooftop, perching on the edge in his four-legged form. “Leaving so soon?”

“I was just about to put on a pot of tea.” Above me, the Vulture swoops in, landing nearby and crouching, his wings held aloft like weapons, and with those razor-sharp edges, they probably are.

“You cannot get away, leetle spider!” a voice yells from below. “Rhino and Grizzly are waiting!”

“Even if we are only five,” Octavius says, scuttling up onto the roof, “we are still Superior. You cannot best all of us at once. Not alone.”

Glaring at all of them in turn, I have to admit that he’s probably right. I could web Ocatvius to the roof, maybe stick Jackal to the Vulture, immobilize one while weighing down the other? What about Rhino and Grizzly? Rhino can move pretty fast, but if I get into the forest, they’ll have the trees to contend with…and I’ll be lost in the middle of a forest that could be anywhere in the United States. How long was I even out? How far away did they take me?

_Ssshooooom!_

_Clung!_

An impact shudders the roof, and quite suddenly, there’s a red and gold armored man crouching in front of me. I have just enough time to recognize a suit of Stark armor before he stands and holds his palms out.

_Kreeng-KSHOOM!_

Octavius is blasted over the edge, and the man turns around holding a hand out as the Jackal leaps at him.

_Kreeng-KSHOOM!_

I hear a heavier impact on the ground, and over the edge, I see the Iron Goblin squaring off with the Rhino and the Grizzly, helped by five smaller robots that I recognize as the Iron Legion Tony showed me ages ago. I turn back to the fight happening on the roof as another armored figure lands nearby, the Iron Patriot blasting the Vulture as he swoops at her.

“ _Hey, Spidey_ ,” it says in a female-sounding voice, turning to me. “ _Glad you’re okay._ ”

“C-Car – “

“ _Ah-ah, secret identity, remember_?” she says, placing a metal finger to her facemasks’s mouth slit with a soft _ting_ sound. She points up into the sky, where a very sophisticated-looking helicopter is hovering overhead, a spotlight shining down on us. Shielding my eyes, I turn back to Carol Danvers, who holds her arms out like she wants a hug.

I’ve never seen a woman look more huggable.

I wrap my arms around her immediately and hold on tight as she takes off into the night sky, leaving Norman and Tony to mop up the Superior Six with the help of the Iron Legion. Carol flies us into the back of the chopper, where a bay door opens to allow us in and shuts once we land. As soon as it’s closed, I’m tackled in a hug, squeezed tightly by a set of strong but slim arms.

“Peter,” Gwen sobs into my ear. “Peter, Peter, Peter, you’re okay, you’re here, oh my gosh…Peter….”

“I’m alright, Gwen,” I say, hugging her tightly back. “I’m fine.”

“You’re here,” she repeats, squeezing me again. “You’re here. I don’t know what I would have done…. You’re okay, you’re right here.”

Carol strolls across the little cabin and taps on the door that presumably leads to the cockpit. The chopper shudders as we adjust course and take off back to New York.

“We’re gonna get you back to Oscorp, get you checked out,” Harry’s voice says, and his hands come down on my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “Glad you’re alright, man.”

“ _You have two very good friends, Parker_ ,” Carol says, her mask sliding up to reveal her face. “You’re a lucky guy.”

“I really am,” I say, slumping into a seat. “I’m also hitting stage three.”

“Stage three?” Gwen asks, not letting me go.

“Exhaustion.”

My eyes shut, and I feel myself sink into blackness.


	28. Chapter 28

I take the next day off school, claiming food poisoning from some bad Chinese food after a late-night chopper ride to Wharton State Forest in New Jersey.

Yeah, even the cover story was a heck of a night.

In reality, I’m just recovering in the Osborn penthouse, under the care of a highly paid and equally highly confidential doctor, who pronounces me perfectly healthy except for some minor anemia from the blood sample that was taken from me.

“Have a steak, relax, and just take it easy today,” he says before packing up and leaving. “Harry, good to see you again. Glad you finally stopped growing on us.”

“Eh, puberty’s not over yet,” Harry says, waving. “Later, Dr. Mitchell.”

The door closes, and Gwen stands from her seat by the window, crawling onto the bed to lie next to me and curl up against my side. I chuckle and reach down to run my fingers through her hair.

“I’m not gonna disappear on you, Gwen,” I say, and she pouts up at me.

“I’m not taking any chances,” she says. “That was the most horrifying night of my life.”

“We were both pretty freaked out,” Harry says, dropping into a chair next to the bed. “Tony, though, man. He hit a homerun. We had your location for a bit, but they must’ve had a signal jammer or something, because we lost you for a couple hours. Tony and Dad had to go full Bourne Identity and track you down. I think they actually had Jarvis bust into the Google satellites to find you.”

“Kudos for not using hack,” Tony’s voice says from the doorway, and he peeks in cautiously before stepping in. “I thought we might interrupt a sponge bath, but I heard Harry’s voice, so it seemed safe.”

“Hey, Pete,” Carol says, strolling in behind him. “How ya feeling?”

“Pretty alright, actually,” I say. “Doctor says I need a steak dinner and a relaxing day.”

“Gotta love the high-society docs,” Tony says. “So, I stopped in because I thought you might like an update on the Superior Six.”

“And you were worried about Peter,” Carol says, giving him an accusing little smile.

“That’s not the kind of thing guys tell each other, though,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Clap on the shoulder, a few kind words, maybe a Jack and Coke to wind down from the ordeal, but save the heartfelt stuff for the love interest.” He gestures at Gwen, who rolls her eyes, fixing Carol with a long-suffering look.

“Boys,” they say in unison.

“So, what happened to the Six?” I ask.

“Octavius and Warren slipped away,” Tony says, shaking his head. “That was my goof. I blasted them off the roof and gave them a chance to run, so…my bad. We got the rest of them, though.”

“Was the Iron Goblin versus Rhino and Bear fight as awesome as I think?” I ask, and Tony grins fondly at the memory.

“It was glorious,” he says. “I think Norm gets a little pent-up aggression working in the business world, so it’s nice for him to let off some steam once in a while.”

“We examined their tech, too,” Carol says, with a sidelong glance at Tony. “Well, Tony did. I helped a little.”

“You got the coffee, that was helpful,” Tony says.

“A _little_ helpful,” Carol says, turning back to us. “Nothing groundbreaking, probably stolen from several difference sources. Stane Industries, Hammer Industries – “

“Lots of industries,” Tony says. “Given Obadiah Stane’s business ethics, though, I’m inclined to think ‘stolen’ isn’t the appropriate word.”

“More like ‘misplaced, but I found this money sitting in an old bank account’?” I say.

“Exactly,” he says with a smirk. “In any case, they’ll be going away for a long time. We can’t exactly report the kidnapping without outing you, but they’ve got rap sheets longer than my quarterly personal expenditure report.”

“And holy crap, he buys a lot of booze and car parts,” Carol says with a smirk up at Tony. He just shrugs.

“Everyone’s got vices,” he says, reaching out and patting my shoulder. “Anyway, good to see you’re feeling chipper again.  Stop by again sometime, I’ll show you the new armor I’m working on.”

“You’re making another one?” I ask.

“Everyone needs a hobby,” he says, already heading for the door. “See ya, kid.”

“Wow, a personal visit from Tony Stark,” Harry says as he leans back in his seat. “He must like you.”

“Well, Pete’s gone full inventor since Tony gave him that workstation in the basement,” Gwen says. “How did your new web-shooters work out, anyway?”

“I mean, I shot Octavius in the chest with my impact webs and tased him and Gargan, so…yeah, I like it,” I say, grinning at the memory of Max Gargan twitching on the ground and whimpering like a baby.

Very satisfying.

“Do you think you could make me some?” Gwen asks, holding her hands up and wiggling her fingers. “At least some shocky gloves?”

“Hm…I could probably make that happen,” I say, glancing down at her and smiling. “Then you would be as electrifying as your personality.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” she snickers, her hand coming up to slap me gently in the chest. “Get out of here.”

“Oh, well, if you insist,” I say, starting to sit up, and she quickly wraps her arms around me.

“Noooo, stay,” she says with a pout. “You and your terrible, terrible puns can stay.”

I chuckle and sit back, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“I win,” I say loftily.

“I _let_ you win,” she says, giving me a petulant little look. “You’re injured and have been through a stressful situation, so I’m making you feel better.”

“So considerate,” I say wryly.

“You two are doing that diabetes-sweetness thing again,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Pete, movie? Dude, let’s watch Bubble Boy!”

“Fuck yeah,” I say, and Harry leaps to his feet, hurrying from the room, spouting his favorite quotes from the movie along the way.

“You know, I hear a lot about the whole ‘le wrong generation’ stuff online, but I really genuinely think Harry should have been a 90s baby,” Gwen says, folding her arms thoughtfully.

“Eh, I like the whole ‘out of time’ thing he has,” I say. “He’s gonna bring back 2000s counterculture if it kills him.”

“One man,” Gwen says in her best movie announcer voice. “One mission.”

“In world where time marches on, one man chooses to go against the flow, to delve back to an age long past,” I say, and Gwen giggles softly, kissing me.

“Okay, you win,” she says. “I can’t top Poetry Parker.”

“Yet another victory,” I say, earning a poke in the nose.

“Alright, let’s watch nineties Jake Gyllenhaal go on zany adventures to get the girl he loves!” Harry says, striding triumphantly back into the room with the Blu-Ray hoisted over his head. “Also, I found Old School, so that’s going in after.”

He pops in the Blu-Ray, and I lean back into my pillow, Gwen nestling into the crook of my arm. Her fingers absently trace little shapes along my chest as we watch the familiar movie. My phone buzzes on the bedside table, and Gwen reaches for it, passing it to me.

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[OMG, are you okay!?]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[Harry needs to learn how to keep a secret from pretty girls]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[don’t you try to distract me with compliments! You got kidnapped!?]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[it’s fine, we thrashed the guys that did it, and I’m not even hurt, just a little drained]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[it’s fine he says! You are way to casual about this]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[hey, c’mon, I wasn’t exactly helpless. I kicked their asses. I even got to test out the taser thing for my web-shooters]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[you made a taser!? You are such a fucking genius!]_

_[anyway, since you seem so blasé about this kidnapping thing, are you going to the dance on Saturday?]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[eh, maybe, probably not.]_

_[Gwen and I hate dances]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[aw, I wanted to dance with you. :P ]_

_[it’s fine, though. I’m going with Harry. We’re going as friends, and I dunno, maybe I’ll give things a second shot with him.]_

_[do you think I should?]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[Harry’s a good guy. Just take things slow, see if it’s what you want.]_

_[It’s not like I’ll hate you if you don’t date him.]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[aw, that’s so sweet. :) ]_

_[okay, class is starting. Don’t be mad at me for worrying about you!]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[that’s what pals do, right?]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[that’s right! ;) See ya!]_

“I was skeptical at first, but I really like MJ,” Gwen says, peering over my shoulder. “She’s actually pretty sweet.”

“She’s great,” I say, smiling and handing her my phone, which she sets back on the bedside table. We hear the door buzzer ring in the distance, and Harry looks confused for a moment before standing and heading from the room, not even pausing the movie.

“Who could that be?” Gwen asks. “No one knows we’re here except Mr. Osborn and Tony.”

She sits up and stands, her hand sliding out of mine as she heads for the door to peek out. She lets a little peal of laughter at the sight she sees.

“He did not!” she calls into the hallway, and a chuckling Harry rejoins us, dragging a few tray tables in and setting them up.

“He did,” Harry says, glancing at me. “Tony bought you steak.”

“What?” I ask, dumbfounded. As I watch, three men carry in large cardboard boxes, setting one on each table.

“Enjoy your meals, Mr. Osborn,” one of them says. “We can show ourselves out.”

“Thanks, fellas,” Harry says, waving them out before turning to us. “Tony Stark bought each of us like…eighty-dollar steak dinners.”

“Wow, with mashed potatoes and veggies and everything,” Gwen says, opening her box and inhaling. “Oh my gosh, it smells so amazing. Pete, Tony Stark wants to adopt you.”

“Jeez, you say the wrong thing around him, he drops like two hundred dollars on you,” I say, opening my own box and peering at my meal. It really does smell amazing, and it looks flawlessly made. Gordon Ramsay would be proud, I think.

We dig our food out of the boxes, and as Bubble Boy trudges through the Nevada desert, we tuck into meals that cost more than some of our school textbooks, and oh my gosh, it’s the best food I’ve ever had. Tony spared no expense; the steaks are huge, and even with my enhanced metabolism and spider-sized appetite, I find myself having to take a few breaks to let the food settle before diving back in.

“Oof,” Gwen says, leaning back and letting a very unladylike belch without even excusing herself. “Oh my gosh. I’ve never had food so good I didn’t wanna stop eating just because I was full.”

“I can’t remember the last time I was actually _full_ ,” Harry says, dabbing weakly at his face with a napkin. “Man, I think I need a nap after that.”

I can already feel my eyelids drooping, having taken my meal in bed, and the heavy food is making me sleepy, even though it’s only two in the afternoon. Maybe that whole kidnapping craziness _did_ drain me a little more than I thought.

“Pete, are you sleepy?” Gwen asks, glancing over at me. “Hey, if you actually need a nap, go for it. We’ll be right here.”

I want to protest that I’m just fine, that I’m just not the right age bracket for an afternoon nap, but wow this bed is comfy, and Gwen’s voice is disarming enough that I slip off to sleep.

It has been a long couple days.


	29. Chapter 29

I wake up to a soft scribbling sound and the feel of a weighted presence on the mattress, near my feet. I feel…amazing, actually, albeit a little hungry even after a massive steak dinner. I guess my spider-metabolism burned right through all that food to fix me up good and proper. Opening my eyes, I see it’s late in the afternoon, the sun low in the sky but not setting just yet. A glance at the clock on the bedside table tells me it’s nearly 4:30. I look for the source of the scribbling noise and see Mary Jane sitting near my feet, working on some homework.

“MJ?” I ask, and she glances quickly over.

“Hey,” she says softly, a warm smile on her face. “How you feeling?”

“A lot better,” I say, sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

She gives me a playful pout. “Not happy to see me? I stopped by after school to make sure you were alright, but you were conked out, so we just got to talking. Then the news broke in to Ellen to show some kind of robbery attempt at that Wells Fargo from yesterday. A bunch of idiots trying to get away with some quick cash in all the cleanup attempt or something. So Gwen and Harry webbed off to save the day, and I promised to look after you.”

“Oh,” is all I say, glancing up at the TV, which is muted but showing Gwen and Harry beating the tar out of some would-be thieves. They have the situation well under control; this isn’t the Superior Six but a bunch of thugs that look terrified at the presence of actual superheroes. One sees Harry and actually drops his gun and cowers. I laugh when Harry glances at the camera and points at him, like, “Look at this pansy!”

Turning back to MJ, I see that she’s back to her homework, her notebook open across her lap. She hums a thoughtful little noise, pressing the eraser of her pencil to her chin. Without even thinking, I reach for my phone, opening up the camera app and framing her against Harry’s window, the afternoon sun glinting off of her red hair very nicely.

_Digital-click!_

She hears the sound and jerks her head, looking over at me and rolling her eyes with a little smile.

“Eek, paparazzi,” she says playfully, hiding behind her notebook. “Let me live my life!”

I just snort out a laugh and shrug.

“Sorry, it was a good shot,” I say, holding out my phone. “Want me to delete it?”

“No, no,” she crawls over to peer down at my phone. “Huh, it actually _is_ a good shot. Jeez, so you’re a photographer, a science whizz, and a superhero. A real Renaissance man, aren’t you?”

“I like to dabble,” I say with a shrug. “As far as photography, it does help to have photogenic people.”

“So I’m photogenic?” Mary Jane asks, looking pleased. “I mean…I have always kinda wanted to be like a model.”

“Really?” I ask. “You seem to like…hate attention, though. At least lately.”

“Well, no, it’s more like…I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’d rather people just know…me, you know? Like, when I was out there dancing around in cheerleading, people were paying attention because I was wearing a skirt and jumping around like a peppy little piece of future jock arm candy. And for a while, I was happy with it, but…well, I told you, remember?”

“You finally realized that having a bunch of people interested in you was no fun if they didn’t _know_ you,” I remember, and she nods.

“That’s kind of why…I liked when _you_ took my picture,” she says with a bashful smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You always had this…kinda look in your eye, and…it felt like it wasn’t some guy taking a picture for the paper, treating me like a doll to pose and take a picture of. It was…it felt like messing around with a friend who happened to have a camera and was taking a pic.”

I smile at the memory, smirking.

“I always kinda got that, too. The rest of the girls were posing for themselves or for everyone else. You seemed like you were posing for…well, for me. That sounds really self-centered now that I think about it.”

“No, it’s not,” she smiles sweetly at me. “I pretty much just told you I was.”

“I did read somewhere, the best way to get a good picture of someone is to get them to warm up to you,” I say. “You get more genuine smiles and stuff, and the body language doesn’t feel so stiff and posed.”

“Well, if I ever decide to go into modeling, you can be my photographer,” she says with a wink.

“Deal,” I chuckle. “So, if you want people to see a picture of you and know who _you_ are, what kind of backdrop are we talking? Like…nature, countryside? Maybe something more abstract? What are you, like…into?”

“Okay, don’t you dare laugh,” Mary Jane says, pouting at me, and I shake my head, holding my hands up defensively.

“I would never,” I say. She bites her lip nervously.

“So, I’m actually like a closet steampunk fan,” she says.

I blink, grinning at her. “No.”

“I am!” she says, huffing softly. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing!” I say. “I just…that’s really cool. You’re so not the type I’d peg for a steampunk fan.”

“I just…I dunno, I’ve always loved the whole classy old-time feel it has,” she says dreamily. “Women in big dresses with parasols and white gloves, men in top hats and tailcoats. Big steam-powered airships and zeppelins.”

“Giant clockwork robots burping out steam at the ’27 World’s Fair?” I suggest, and she nods eagerly.

“Oh my gosh, yes!”

“I mean, we could make that happen,” I say with a shrug. “Photography has all kind of niches, and steampunk’s pretty mainstream lately. You have a classic look going for you, you’d look great in that vintage clothing.”

“You think so?” she asks quietly, smiling at me.

“Hell yeah,” I say. “You…don’t take this weird, but you have really like…striking features. I hate saying that, I really do, but you do. Kinda pale, freckles, deep green eyes, and dark red hair…. You have a lot of contrasts, and contrasts pop, you know?”

“Pete, c’mon, you’re making me blush over here,” she giggles, ducking her head and staring at her knees. “Well, maybe we can do like a photoshoot sometime. Oh, Gwen can come along, and we can all just take a bunch of pictures.”

“That could be fun,” I say. Truth be told, I’ve always wanted to do like a full-on photo session with Gwen. That classic beauty I tell her about would photograph really well, and she has pretty silvery blue eyes that just…pierce you if she really _looks_ at you with them.

Mary Jane climbs from the bed, and I watch as she digs into her pocket for her phone, trotting over to Harry’s stereo and plugging the phone into the auxiliary jack.

“Okay, so have you ever heard of electro-swing music?” she asks, turning back to see me shake my head. “Nooo, you ­ _have_ to listen to it! It’s like steampunk turned into music.”

She taps on her phone screen, and in seconds…well, I guess electro-swing is playing. It sounds like something I would hear on BioShock Infinite, with underscores of Dance Dance Revolution.

It’s actually incredibly catchy.

“Isn’t it awesome!?” Mary Jane says, bouncing up and down in a little dance, shaking her shoulders and dancing toward me. “C’mon, dance with me.”

“I can’t even dance a little,” I say, but she grabs my wrist and pulls me from the bed.

“You can balance perfectly on the tip of a fifty-foot flagpole, but you can’t dance a little?” she asks. “Show me your spider-dance powers!”

I roll my eyes but mirror her movements, doing a sort of boppy two-step, and she smirks, taking my hands and holding one above her head, using me to twirl her. As I dance along with her, I realize that I might actually _have_ spider dance powers. With my increased coordination and agility, gone are the old trip-ups and stepping on toes.

Peter Parker can actually dance.

“Oh, fuck yeah, malt shop dance club dance party!” Harry’s voice says, and we look over to see him in full costume doing the running-man. Gwen pulls her mask off to give me a giant grin.

“You can dance?” she asks. Mary Jane takes my shoulders, spinning me and pushing me toward my girlfriend. I take her hands and pull her over to the stereo, guiding her into a little jig, and she giggles and follows along, smiling up at me. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Just needed a gut-busting meal and a nap,” I say, shrugging and spinning her out before pulling her back to me.

“Ah!” she squeaks, laughing softly and two-stepping with me. “We’re just discovering more and more practical uses for spider-powers, hm?”

I dip her and pull her up into a kiss, just hugging her while Harry and MJ fall to the floor laughing nearby.

Not a bad end to an absolutely terrible couple of days.

 

Even though we’re all fairly committed to the whole Spider-Friends thing, often spending hours at a time just patrolling the city, it’s still nice to sleep in on a Saturday morning once in a while.

The temptation is increased exponentially now that Gwen has taken to sneaking into my bed shortly after “leaving” out the front door every evening, to make sure I’m not kidnapped in the night or something. With Captain Stacy working early mornings and Aunt May generally only waking me up if I look like I’m going to sleep past eleven in the morning, we’ve gotten away with it so far.

Hey, it’s not like we’re getting up to anything scandalous. So far, clothes have stayed on and hands haven’t wandered.

Too far.

I’ve said too much.

“Mmmm, Peter,” Gwen sings into my ear as she stretches and rolls onto her side to smile up at me from under the covers. “I do believe it’s time to crawl out of bed.”

“You are definitely mistaken,” I say, rolling onto my stomach and flopping back to the mattress. “Nope, nope, not even close to time. See, I have a secret. I’m the mattress whisperer.”

“The mattress whisperer?” Gwen repeats, her tone amused.

“Yep,” I say. “I hear what the mattresses say. They have many wise words for us mere mortals, and Pablo says…twenty more minutes.”

“Your mattress’s name is Pablo,” Gwen giggles softly, and I nod.

“Pablo and I have been through a lot,” I say sagely. “I trust him greatly, and he says twenty…five more minutes.”

“Now it’s twenty-five?”

“I don’t make the rules, Pablo does,” I say. Gwen smirks and reaches out to tickle me, dancing her fingers across my chest and making me jerk onto my side. Kissing me softly, she walks her fingers up my stomach.

“Well, does Pablo know that I’m strong enough to actually lift your lazy tush out of this bed?” she asks, and I smirk.

“Go for it,” I say. “That’s my fetish.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “You’re a freak,” she laughs, though she’s obviously trying to keep her voice down in case Aunt May hears. Judging by the booming Beatles music coming from upstairs, though, she’s neck-deep in a Spring house-cleaning frenzy.

It would take Armageddon to distract her at this point.

“Well, I _was_ bitten by a radioactive spider that gave me superpowers, so…yeah, that’s pretty freakish,” I say, shrugging. Gwen drops a little kiss on my lips, slipping out from under the covers.

“I’m gonna hop over to my place and get ready,” she says. “If you’re not out of bed by the time I get back, I’ll drag you to the shower myself.”

“That seems like incentive to just stay _in_ bed,” I say, earning a roll of her eyes and a soft, lingering kiss.

“You are adorable,” she says softly, trotting for the stairs that lead up to the backyard cellar door. She pulls on a discarded pair of jeans and creeps up and out of the of the room. The first time she used the old door, it creaked loud enough that I actually jumped when she opened it, but after a brand new set of hinges and frequent applications of WD-40, it’s a simple matter of just raising and lowering it gently enough not to clatter around.

The cellar door flumps softly back into place, leaving me missing the warmth of Gwen’s snoozing figure next to me. We’ve shared a bed before, Gwen having slept over at my house numerous times even in recent months, but it feels…different lately. Now that we’re officially an item, a couple, boyfriend-and-girlfriend, there’s a subtext to the whole thing, like we’re both aware that things could get more physical but we’re both terrified and have no idea how we would go about such a shift in our dynamic.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Deciding I should probably get out of bed before Gwen makes good on her promise to bodily remove me from the warm confines of my blankets, I kick the covers away, cursing myself for once again forgetting to invest in some kind of space heater or something, and roll out of bed. Aunt May has conceded the entire basement to my Fortress of Spidertude needs (though she’s under the impression that I’m on some kind of at-home internship at Oscorp, under the tutelage of Tony Stark), and my first decision as tenant was to install some carpet, so my feet at least don’t have to contend with cold basement concrete as I pad over to the stairs, snagging a pair of jeans and some briefs on the way.

I emerge into a time-warp; Aunt May is listening to John and Paul croon about how much they wanna hold her hand, singing along spiritedly while attentively dusting her curio cabinet full of knickknacks. She hears me emerge from the basement and smiles.

“Good morning, love,” she says, setting down a ceramic pigeon or something and making her way over to reach up and tousle my hair. “Goodness, you’re getting so tall. I remember when I would just muss your hair every morning after your bath.”

“You were helping it dry, you always said,” I grin, and she chuckles, her eyes crinkling with her smile.

“If you keep growing, I won’t even be able to reach,” she says, her hands on her hips as she gazes up at me.

“If I have to crouch for you to make sure my hair is perfectly mussed, I will,” I say in a grave voice. She laughs and gently whaps me in the side with her dust rag.

“You just go shower before Gwen gets over here,” she says. “I swear, she always seems to know just when you’ve woken up.”

“I think she has a camera hidden in my room,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper, and Aunt May rolls her eyes.

“Get out of here, you loon,” she says as I head for the stairs.

“Love you, Aunt May,” I call over my shoulder.

“Love you too,” she calls back.

I’m serenaded this morning by an electro-swing mix courtesy of Pandora as I shower. Bopping my head to the beat, I step out and pull on the half-outfit I took with me. By the time I’m back downstairs, the smell of cooking bacon greets me, Gwen having arrived and taken over the kitchen to make brunch. The Beatles have been turned off for the moment, replaced by the television playing the eleven o’clock news. I lean against the doorway of the kitchen, watching Gwen poke at the bacon in the pan and eep softly when it pops at her.

“I’m being attacked!” she says, turning around the pout at me. “Pete, the bacon’s being mean.”

“Well, it’s about to be eaten, what do you expect?” I ask, making my way over and hugging her. She smirks and kisses me, giving me a little tickle in the stomach.

“Mmm, I love the shirtless look,” she says softly, running her hands over my wiry muscles. “My muscly man.”

“Well, get your eyeful before I go hide it away behind a shirt,” I say.

“Evil, evil shirts,” she pouts, leaning in. “Hey, go watch the news. I think I heard them mention us.”

I nod and slip down to the basement, searching out my TV remote and aiming it in the general direction of the old tube TV I found buried in Uncle Ben’s old stuff. Apparently he’d been “meaning to fix it” for about six years. It’s an old Sony, so it’s held up well over the years, and I had plenty of spare bits to fix it up with in all of the stuff Tony gifted me with. I only ever use it to keep up on what the news channels are saying about us when I can’t be bothered to search out the streaming broadcasts online.

Searching through my closet for a shirt to wear when not in uniform, I listen in as the perky female anchor leads into the less urgent local stories.

“ _…details still emerging about the recent robbery attempt at the Manhattan branch of Wells Fargo, where the supervillain group calling themselves the Superior Six were apparently attempting to make off with more than a hundred-thousand dollars in cash, though sources involved in the case are beginning to question whether that was their true motive. Eyewitnesses report that the timely arrival of the superheroes known as the Spider-Trio turned sour when the apparent leader of the group, Spider-Man was kidnapped by the Six. Some think that the kidnapping may have been the ultimate goal and the robbery simply bait to lure the well-meaning vigilantes to the scene. Spidey fans breathed a sigh of relief, however, when Spider-Man was sighted again only a couple of days later, looking no worse for wear as he and his teammates subdued the self-styled Kangaroo._ ”

Ugh, the Kangaroo. Why do they all have to name themselves after animals? At least the Ringer did his own thing and picked something different. I have to respect him for that. Everyone else just seems eager to choose an animal and make it a theme. Like, we didn’t _decide_ to be spiders, it just happened to us. The Kangaroo wasn’t bitten by a radioactive kangaroo or something.

I’m pretty sure he would just be dead if he was.

Or…violently ill or something.

I slide a shirt over my head and make my way to my bedside table to grab up my phone, noticing a I have a text.

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[morning, tiger :3 ]_

_[what are you up to this weekend, besides NOT going to the dance, you jerk. >.< ]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[I’m sorry, I’m just the worst person.]_

_[probably just gonna web up the town, save a few people, the usual]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[oh so casual about being a superhero. So it’ll just be you and Gwen?]_

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[yep, because you charmed Harry with your feminine wiles.]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[I can think of a few other people I’d rather charm ;) ]_

_[hey! Let’s hang out tomorrow, though. Like, all of us.]_

_[unless you have spider stuff planned?]_

Actually, we’ve made it an unspoken tradition to chill at Harry’s place on Sundays and just keep the police scanner on in case something truly huge comes up, like a bomb threat or the KFC in Harlem running out of chicken.

There was an actual riot.

**_To: Miss Watson_ **

_[we’re all planning on just hanging out at Harry’s place and keeping an eye on the news.]_

_[you can come over, but we’ll basically be “on call” the whole time]_

**_From: Miss Watson_ **

_[sounds fun! Let me know when we’re meeting up!]_

Where’s my backpack? I scan my room, finding it hanging from a hook on the wall, and dig through it to make sure my costume is all assembled. Slinging it onto my back, I glance back at my phone, checking for any other texts.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[hey, you :) just saying hi! Hope you have a great weekend!]_

_[don’t get spider-napped again!]_

Har-har, Jess. At least she’s joking about it. The first couple of days were full of anxious texts that only grew more frantic if I didn’t respond in half an hour. Gwen actually Skyped her last night and told her that while I’m apparently incapable of staying out of trouble on my own (not true), she’d be there to watch my back.

It’s not like I’m a wayward puppy or something.

I send Jess a quick text telling her I’ll do my best, stuffing my phone in my pocket and heading back upstairs and into the kitchen. Gwen has fried up some eggs and bacon and is setting my plate on the table as I walk into the kitchen, smooching me on the cheek as I lower myself into a seat.

“Dig in,” she says softly in my ear, kissing at my temple. I reach out and wrap my arm around her waist as she tries to walk away. “Ah! Pete, I should take care of the dishes – “

“Or, we could both eat, and I’ll help with the dishes,” I say. “I feel like some kind of chauvinist fifties TV husband, getting ready for work while you toil away at my breakfast and stuff.”

She giggles as I tug her gently into my lap, plopping down and shifting to get comfy before pulling her own plate of food closer. She takes a bite of her own, reaching down and snagging up a piece of my bacon off of my plate.

“Ah, bacon thief!” I say, and she sticks her tongue out, holding the strip up to my mouth. I lean in and take a bite, Gwen shaking softly in my lap with laughter. She leans in and nibbles softly at my ear, nuzzling into my hair.

“I love you so much,” she whispers, and I almost choke on my bacon at how…tender she sounds. I hug her, and she lets a happy little sound, snuggling into my arms.

“Love you, too,” I say. She wiggles happily, smirking at the, um…reaction such a motion elicits, feeding me more bacon between forkfuls of eggs. Both plates are soon enough empty, and I’m that kind of full that means we’ll probably be stopping at McDonald’s in a few hours for second breakfast. Gwen likes to joke that since the spider bites, we’ve taken on a hobbit’s meal schedule, often managing six or seven meals a day and burning off the calories almost as fast as we can eat them. Gwen especially eats with just as much gusto as Harry, powering down all kinds of sugars and proteins to produce her natural webbing.

And, as evidenced by how slim and light she feels in my lap, she never gains a pound, remaining a dainty little ass-kicker.

A short round of dishes later, we’re waving goodbye to Aunt May, who bids us farewell with a background chorus of Elvis’s Jailhouse Rock. Gwen laces her fingers through mine as we walk along, the chilly morning air causing our breath to mist before us. At least our suits are made of the athletic Under-Armor type of fabric that does a fairly good job of keeping us warm, especially when we’re constantly working up a sweat keeping the city safe.

“So is Harry joining us today?” Gwen asks, glancing sidelong at me as I check my phone.

“He hasn’t messaged me yet,” I say. “He’s probably still asleep, actually. And he’ll want time to get ready for the dance. I wouldn’t expect him today.”

“Patrol date,” Gwen sings, latching onto my arm. “Double make-out breaks.”

“You know, we have that fan page on Facebook, right?” I ask, and she nods. “There’s a poll just popped up today – “

“’Which pairing do you ship?’!” she says, cackling. “At least we’re in first. Even if fifteen percent of our fans ship you and Harry.”

“Just…no…” I say with a sigh, shaking my head at the thought that any of our fans think _Harry Osborn_ and I would be good together.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Just…on a deeply personal level, there kind of _is_.

I’m done with this train of thought.

“C’mon, I’m tired of walking,” Gwen says, her hands sliding down my arm to take my hand and pull me toward a small park on our street. There’s a little stone building with bathrooms and a vending machine that’s had the same plastic front on it longer than I’ve been alive. Seriously, it’s showing an old advertisement for Star Wars Episode 1, which hit theaters about two years before I was even born.

And I was never really a big fan of the first movie. The lightsaber fights were great, some of the “political intrigue” stuff felt out of place in a sci-fi fantasy.

Mass Effect did it better.

We step out of the bathrooms moments later, Gwen tugging on her brand new “shocky hands” gloves, made specially for her so she can have taser fingers, too.

“Honestly, if you’d never gotten bitten, it wouldn’t have been too much of a stretch to imagine you just going full Tony Stark and building some awesome superhero gear and becoming a vigilante anyway,” she says, glancing at me, and I can hear the smile in her voice even without seeing it behind her mask. “Like…a wingsuit and your taser gloves, put in a few hours at the gym every day.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re remembering the same Peter Parker,” I say as we climb onto the building and web over to a much taller office building next to the park. “This is the guy that struggled to do eight pushups on the first day of gym.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but there was nothing stopping you from actually getting in shape,” she says, poking me on the nose, finding it easily even through my mask. “I mean, you were usually too busy doing science, but c’mon, you could set that aside for some gains.”

“Ew, Harry’s rubbing off on you,” I chuckle. “’Gains’.”

“Oh no, put me out of my misery now,” Gwen says in mock dread, placing her hands to her face. “Before we know it, I’ll be spouting nineties movies references and listening to Boxcar Racer on repeat for three days.”

“Ugh, I can still sing ‘I Feel So’ from start to finish, and I hate it,” I say, taking out my phone and checking my Breaking News app. “Hey, we got a string of armed robberies. Red Chevy Cavalier, big African American guy with a shaved head, little Caucasian guy wearing a Dolphins jersey.”

“Rob and Big?” Gwen asks with theatrical shock. “They’ve sunk so low.”

“Ever since DC dropped him, I don’t think things have been the same,” I say, shaking my head. “C’mon, let’s go web all over the town.”

“Hey, that hasn’t happened in two weeks, and you had that last one coming,” Gwen says in a pouty voice.

“You’re the one who said it felt good when I nibbled your wrists,” I shoot back, and she just huffs.

“You are impossible.”

 

“Help! Someone, please, my son! He has my son!”

Ew, gross. Child abduction was just one of those things that never turned out well. Well, kidnapping in general just had a sinister vibe to it, but kidnapping a _child_?

The Tarantula didn’t abide.

Thankfully, Harry was already in costume; crazy spider-parkour sort of required a full costume, or people would see Harry Osborn, who’s fairly athletic but definitely not “I can jump across a six-lane boulevard” athletic, pulling amazing feats.

And they _were_ pretty amazing.

Leaping across rooftops at a full sprint, the wind rushed past his ears as Harry caught up with the would-be kidnapper, who was fast but not superhumanly fast and also hampered by the kid who was doing his damnedest to get away, biting, kicking, screaming, and just generally struggling.

Go little dude.

Alright, how to get the kid away without hurting him? Maybe straight-up intimidation would work?

Worth a shot.

Harry leapt, sailing over the man and landing solidly on the sidewalk with the ever-satisfying _whump_ that followed him around lately. The abductor skidded to a halt, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

“Put the kid down,” Harry said, and the man spun on the spot, seeing the kid’s mom running along the sidewalk as well as the people surrounding them. Snarling, he pulled out a knife and held it up to the kid’s throat, and Harry tensed.

“Get the fuck back!” the guy yelled. “Get back or I’ll cut his fucking throat, I swear to God!”

“Bro, _think_ for a moment,” Harry said. “You do that, there’s nothing to stop me from just annihilating you, and if you do anything to that kid, I will. You’re fucked either way, it’s just either attempted kidnap or fucking murder.”

His hand shook, and kid was staring at Harry with wide, terrified eyes. If only Pete or Gwen were here, they could like yank him away with their webs or –

Fuck.

Duh, Harry had web-shooters, too. He just never bothered to use them. Pete even rigged him up the newer “Mk. IV” shooters, with finger-zapping action.

Okay, time to see if this was possible. Get him in…the shoulders? No, wait, Pete once told him that if you ever wanted to pull a person by webs, you had to distribute the force so they didn’t get whiplash and hurt their spine.

So, one web on the head, one on the chest? Could Harry aim that accurately?

There was a circle of people around them, observing the scene and muttering amongst each other. Harry heard a chorus of clicks that meant pictures were being taken, too. Publicity, exposure, maybe even a blurb on the news. This was the kind of stuff he got into this gig for in the first place, but lately, more and more, it wasn’t about the ego stroke or the reputation. It was about the kid staring at him with beseeching eyes.

“Help me, Tarantula,” he said in a timid voice, and the man shook him.

“Shut up!”

“Got ya, kid,” Harry said, holding his hands out.

_THWIP-THWIP!_

Webbing up the kid’s torso and head, he gave a firm tug, and the kid flew toward him, sailing into his outstretched arms. He spun and set the kid down, turning back to the kidnapper, who was staring at him shock. He growled and reached into his coat, pulling out a gun, but Harry was already tearing at him at top speed, batting the gun away and spinning to sweep his legs out from under him.

“Oof!” the man grunted as he landed, letting a yelp as Harry’s foot pressed on his back, holding him in place. “You son of a bitch!”

“Right, _I’m_ the asshole here for stopping you from kidnapping a child,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. The kid’s mom came running into view, passing the pair and dropping to her knees in front of her son.

“Oh, Austin!” she sobbed, hugging him tightly. “Oh my gosh, you’re okay!”

She gripped her son, lifting him off the ground and turning to Harry.

“Thank you so much,” she said, her voice hoarse with relief. “He’s my entire world, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry said, pressing his foot down as the kidnapper squirmed under his foot. He looked down at the guy, grinding his foot into his back. “You lost, get over it.”

“Alright, everyone, time to stop gawking, the cops are here,” a man in a uniform said, strolling up to the scene and pausing only briefly at the sight of Harry with his foot in the kidnapper’s back. “Well, I hope you don’t expect a medal.”

“Maybe a ribbon?” Harry asked with a shrug. The cop quirked an eyebrow.

“Thinks he’s funny,” he said. “Alright, Edwards, cuff him.”

“The spider-guy, sir?” a younger officer said, stepping into view. He looked a few years older than Harry, likely fresh out of the academy.

“No, the idiot under his foot,” the older one said flatly, rolling his eyes. “Mister spider-man, if you would.”

Watching the guy carefully, Harry lifted his foot, but all the fight seemed to have left the would-be kidnapper. The younger officer lifted the man’s limp arms and cuffed them while the other one studied Harry.

“I got a son waiting for me back home,” he says, “all he ever talks about is ‘those spider-guys on YouTube’ and how he hopes I get to meet one. Guess I’m gonna make his day.”

“I mean, most cops just wanna arrest us, so that’s nice to hear,” Harry said with another shrug, and the officer sighed.

“Well, legally, you didn’t do anything wrong this time around, but you’re still a person of interest in a lot of ongoing cases, so I’m supposed to bring you in for questioning if I see you,” the officer said, gazing levelly at Harry. “Having said that, I’m going to go check on my rookie over there and see if he follows procedure with that scumbag. Do we understand each other?”

“Loud and clear,” Harry said, already backing away from the scene. He glanced over at the mother and child one last time, seeing another responding officer offering the boy a teddy bear from the trunk of his cruiser. The boy glanced back at Harry and waved. Harry waved back before turning and running at a wall, leaping onto it and crawling up to a rooftop. Feeling pretty good about himself, he checked the time. Three o’clock. It would take about an hour to get back home, and by then, it would be nearly time to get ready for the dance.

Harry had been nothing short of shocked when MJ had asked him to the dance, even if she’d made it abundantly clear they were only going as friends. Maybe if Harry showed her that he still cared a lot for her, she might give things a second try. He’d actually asked Pete at one time if MJ had mentioned anything about her, but Pete had said he respected her privacy too much to say anything.

Understandable, really.

After a mostly uneventful parkour roof-hopping trip and two pit-stops for a chili dog and a falafel, Harry reached home, _whump_ ing onto his usual landing zone and crawling into his room. He snagged up his remote and turned on his stereo system, blaring some Sum 41 before heading for his TV and bringing up his collection of _Viva La Bam_ episodes.

Time to soak in some 2000s.

He slid out of his costume, tossing it onto the chest he kept it in along with some spares in case they needed washing or repair at the hands of Pete, who was getting a lot of mileage out of the sewing lessons in Life Skills.

“Get a good fucking look, New York,” he said as he stood naked in front of his window before heading for his bathroom and stepping into the shower. Pete once told him he had “such a rich person shower”, and with five nozzles all hitting him from different directions as he stood in a glass stall on a textured marble floor, he had to agree.

But damn, it was nice.

Singing loudly (and if Gwen was to be believed, badly) along with Sum 41 as he stepped out of the shower, Harry toweled himself off, heading to his closet to find something worthy of a school dance. He needed to toe the line between casual and dressy while also not looking too much like money. Of course, doing so was easy enough when half your wardrobe consisted of baggy cargo pants. Pulling out a slightly nicer, not-as-baggy black pair, he slid into a green shirt and a dark gray button-down. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he realized he’d chosen his Tarantula costume’s colors.

“Fuck, we really _are_ the Power Rangers,” he said, shaking his head and slipping some socks and shoes on. Just as he was cramming his heel into the shoe, straining the already-tied laces because no, it really was easier this way, he heard his buzzer ring. Stuffing his pockets with his phone, keys, and wallet, he hurried for the door.

“Yo, MJ,” he said, pushing the call button and buzzing her up. “Get up here, girl.”

“On my way, dorkus,” she said, laughter in her voice.

Well, she was in a good mood, probably as excited as he was about the night ahead of them. Harry loved school dances. He loved being surrounded by people who loved being surrounded by people, the party-mob mentality that seemed to strip away inhibitions as well as any alcoholic drink.

Speaking of which, he had to remember to meet up with Flash when they got there; his skater-bro had promised to hook him up and make this a night to truly remember.

And it really would be.


	30. Chapter 30

Mary Jane knew, now more than ever, that she hated school dances.

Sure, most of the school still wanted to see her as this wild party girl, and while she did like to have fun, she preferred to have fun with friends, and she’d never really thought of herself as particularly “wild”. Okay, she’d been to parties and had a lot of fun at said parties, but most of the rumors were just that. Rumors. Stories of making out with any guy or girl that came her way, of doing quite a bit more than that, torrid tales right out of a trashy romance novel, most of them were just actual rather tame events that had been spun wildly out of control by enthusiastic boys wanting any taste of excitement they could get. She’d just never really bothered to keep the rumors in check, even fed into them sometimes, dressing the part, joining the cheerleading squad, dating a slew of boyfriends and breaking up with them the moment they gave her the slightest excuse. People loved the Mary Jane they thought they knew; they found her fascinating, mysterious, sexy.

But that wasn’t her.

And it took Peter Parker for her to realize that she didn’t _want_ to be this girl.

It took Peter Parker for her to realize that she was just looking for someone who would look for _her_ , the real Mary Jane, beneath the façade. And when Peter looked at her, camera lens or not, he seemed to just cut right through the image she’d built up and see a girl that just kinda liked having her picture taken.

And now, here she was, buying into the same shit as before, standing in a party full of kids still in the hormonal throes of puberty, gyrating awkwardly against each other and hoping the other party didn’t realize that neither of them had any idea what they were doing. The only two chaperones for the night, the twelfth grade English teacher Ms. Norris and the student-teacher Mr. Robinson, were too occupied with drinking scotch out of a Mountain Dew bottle and fending off dance requests from a sea of giggling high-school girls respectively.

“Yooooo, Mary Jane, let’s dance!” Harry says, staggering over to her and wrapping his arms around her before lifting her to spin her around.

“Harry, you can barely stand up,” Mary Jane said, squirming in his grip. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Fffffuck if I know,” he says. “Hey, hey. Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey, we should…go to Oscorp. I wanna show you all the really awesome shit we have there.”

Well…that actually did sound somewhat fun, definitely better than being here. Pete had told her a lot about all the crazy-advanced tech in that place (with an extremely cute excitable grin on his face the whole time), but she’d never dreamed she would actually have the chance to check it out.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” she asked him, already following him toward the doors of the gym. She had to yell to make herself heard as the music thumped along, a bass-heavy tune shaking the floor and giving the sex-crazed teens something to dance-fuck to.

“No more trouble than when Dad found out about the whole spider thing,” Harry shouted back, and Mary Jane had a brief panicked moment, looking around to make sure no one heard. Everyone was far too absorbed in themselves and each other to care about them, though. This was nothing new, just Mary Jane Watson following another boy out of another party.

“C’mon, but le’s take th’ busssss,” Harry says, staggering toward a back door. “Walton won’ take us t’ Oscorp, or he’d tell my dad or something.”

This was the sort of thing Mary Jane loved doing, a not-so-rule-abiding adventure with a friend to go see where the future was designed and built by some of the greatest minds alive. As she followed Harry toward the bus stop, then, why did she feel such a sense of dread? She hadn’t been able to shake it all evening. Harry was great; he was super understanding about her reservations, her reluctance to start things back up. Only when he’d started drinking did things start to live up to the off feeling she’d had all night.

The bus ride was shorter than she thought it would be, and before long, they were making their way into the lobby, Harry simply waving a card from his wallet at a little scanner on every door.

“ _Welcome back, Mr. Osborn_ ,” a cool male voice said in a British accent.

“Is that an AI?” Mary Jane asked, awed at the idea, as they stepped onto an elevator.

“Yes, isn’t it sick?” Harry said. “That’s Jarvis. Tony programmed him. He’s a full-on AI, wired into like the whole building. Jarvis, say hi to Mary Jane!”

“ _Good evening, Miss Watson_ ,” Jarvis said dryly.

“Hi, Jarvis,” Mary Jane said. “You know my last name?”

“ _Peter Parker acquainted me with you and told me to assist you should the need ever arise_ ,” Jarvis said. “ _He made similar requests in regards to his Aunt May Parker and a Jessica Cambell. Should his actions as Spider-Man ever endanger you, I am to render any aid that I can until he can intervene_.”

“Oh…well, thanks, Jarvis,” Mary Jane said, feeling a warmth blooming in her chest. Peter thought that highly of her, on the same level as his surrogate mother and his first love?

Well, golly.

“ _Sixty-second floor, Research and Development_ ,” Jarvis said. “ _Please refrain from touching any of the inventions._ ”

“C’mon,” Harry said, tugging her into the room. “Dude, you gotta see the armor he made for Dad. It’s like this…big-ass green monster thing, all ‘Aaaah!’”

She giggled a bit at his antics, letting herself be pulled along a hallway made up of cubicles to a large main area, gasping in utter awe when she saw the “big-ass green monster thing” for herself. She instantly recognized it from something she saw on LiveLeaks, an amateur video of the very same robot fighting some giant mutated spider thing, long before she’d even started dating Harry.

Apparently, that robot was actually Norman Osborn in a giant suit of mechanical armor that looked a little too modern to be steampunk, more like cyberpunk than anything.

“Oh my gosh….”

“Fuckin’ sick, right?” Harry asked, coming up behind her and hugging her, pressing himself against her back. “You look great tonight, you know?”

She wiggled from his grip, feeling that sense of dread creeping up even more strongly. “Um…thanks,” she said, slinking away to the other side of the armor, where a table full of what looked like guns sat, presumably prototype energy weapons or something. She was just turning around to ask Harry about them when she was grabbed by the shoulders, his lips pressing against hers in a rough, sloppy echo of the tender kisses he used to give her.

“Harmph!” she gasped, pressing feebly against him, but he was obviously much stronger than her. Desperate to break the unwanted contact, she drew her arm back, tensing up and slapping him across the face hard enough to hurt her hand. Shock was probably the only thing that actually caused him to back away, and that dread she’d been feeling morphed into real fear at the look on his face.

She’d only seen that look once before, when Harry’s “’roid rage” had flared up, but he’d had enough of his wits about him to remove himself from the situation and attempt to calm down, and the timely arrival of Pete and Gwen had defused the situation.

This time, Harry was plastered, and Peter and Gwen were probably back at his house or still out on patrol.

“Harry, calm – “

“You fucking bitch!” he yelled over her, and she huffed.

“You’re the one who forced a kiss on me!” she said defensively.

“You asked me to that dance!” Harry said. “You wanted to go with me! You can’t just act like you wanna start this back up and go cold when I make a move!”

“You…utter pig!” Mary Jane shouted right back. Maybe this wasn’t the best tactic, but he’d scratched a nerve. “I asked you to the dance as _friends_ because I’m your _friend_ , Harry. I told you that. You’re drunk, you need to just calm down!”

He growled, and Mary Jane felt some kind of instinctual alarm bell going off in her head at that sound. That wasn’t a frustrated guy growl, that was a real, animalistic growl, the kind a human throat just couldn’t make.

“Harry, calm down, okay?” she said, trying for a softer, soothing voice, but the growling only intensified, Harry’s body lurching sickeningly as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, God.”

She did the only thing she could think of; she ran. She dashed around the armor, to a sort of scaffolding that had probably been set up to allow Norman Osborn easy access to and from the suit, climbing frantically up as Harry let a blood-curdling screech that did _not_ sound human at all. There was an open access hatch in the back, and she climbed right in, her heart hammering, her head swimming in a sea of panicked adrenaline.

Her legs slid easily into some kind of exo-suit, and if she’d been less in fear for her life, she might have had time to be embarrassed at the way her skirt rode up. For the moment, all she cared about was getting the damn hatch closed.

“ _You are not authorized to be in this suit_ ,” Jarvis’s voice said from two speakers mounted on either side of her. “ _Please exit –_ “

“Jarvis, in case you haven’t noticed, Harry’s turning into some kind of – “

_Clung!_

The suit shuddered, and Mary Jane couldn’t stop a little yelp as Harry threw himself into the chestpiece. The suit immediately closed with a hiss, the exo-suit’s top half fitting over her and clinging to her. Lights flashed in front of her face, a soft blue holographic screen resolving into a view of the room from much higher up than she was used to being. The suit shuddered again, and Mary Jane tried to step back, finding her movements sluggish, like she was trying to walk in a dream.

Like she would dream about this.

“ _Emergency parameters met_ ,” Jarvis said plainly. “ _I will contact Mr. Stark and Mr. Osborn. Please remain in the suit until they arrive_.”

“Yeah, no, what I want more than anything is to be out there with him!” Mary Jane said as the suit shuddered again. She made another attempt to step away, holding her hands out in front of her, seeing the huge green metal oven mitts of the suit instead of her own. The holographic display fitted her own field of vision perfectly, and the suit’s movements were getting less and less sluggish as she moved. She felt big, powerful, and safe.

Then she turned and saw Harry.

“Oh my gosh….”

He was huge, nearly the size of the suit, and he looked like the mutated spider-creatures that had been all over the news months ago. He’d sprouted four extra arms, a set below his own and a twisted, angular pair of more spider-like limbs seemed to just out of his shoulders like some twisted parody of wings. He was covered in thick, coarse hair, like the tarantula he’d named himself after, and his face had morphed into some…very disturbing half-spider monstrosity, extra eyes sprouting in his forehead and cheeks and two thick mandibles jutting from his mouth.

“Jarvis, can he hear me?” Mary Jane asked as Harry lunged at her again. She automatically held up a hand to bat him aside, feeling the armor respond with a muted whirring sound.

“ _He can, Miss Watson_ ,” Jarvis said. “ _Also, the armor has calibrated to your movements, although I would not advise leaving the facility, as young Mr. Osborn could cause harm to the citizens_.”

“Yeah, and since I’m in a spiffy suit of armor, let’s hold his attention,” Mary Jane said. “Harry! If you can still hear me in there, you have to calm down! Think of Peter and Gwen!”

In response, she only got a screeching noise, and Harry lunged at her again. Mary Jane simply batted him aside again, wincing as he flew into a wall of really nice-looking wingsuits.

“Are those expensive?” she asked Jarvis.

“ _I am sure Mr. Stark will understand_ ,” Jarvis said.

“Considering how he throws his money around, he’d probably like the excuse to build new ones,” Mary Jane said, stepping back and watching as Harry readied another lunge.

“ _For someone who’s never met him, you know him rather well_ ,” Jarvis said.

Mary Jane giggled a bit, leaping aside, intending to just keep Harry busy, maybe even tire him out until his father or Tony could get here and subdue him.

_Crash!_

“I thought those windows were like the strongest glass ever!” Mary Jane said as Harry plummeted out of sight.

“ _They were engineered to withstand all plausible assault_ ,” Jarvis said, his voice dry as ever as they looked at the shattered hole Harry had left behind. “ _Young Mr. Osborn appears to be able to exert a tremendous amount of force. I will deploy the Iron Legion to intercept him_.”

“Yeah, and I’ll help,” Mary Jane said, hurrying to the edge and peering down. “So, this thing has, like, rockets or something in it, right?”

“ _Mister Stark recently upgraded the Iron Goblin armor to be capable of independent flight_ ,” Jarvis said. “ _However, I cannot recommend that you continue in this battle, as it is unsafe_.”

“Jarvis, if there’s even a small chance I can talk him down, we should take that, right?” Mary Jane asked. “The Iron Legion might not be able to stop him, or they might stop him a little too well.”

Moments later, a silhouetted diagram of Mary Jane appeared onscreen with her legs straightened and her arms held slightly aloft at her sides, palms downward. “ _Please maintain the flight stance, and I will power the thrusters to ensure a safe landing._ ”

“Okay,” Mary Jane said, staring at the diagram then looking down at the…wow, that was actually a _really_ far drop. “Okay, okay, okay, let’s fucking be a hero!”

She leapt from the window.


	31. Chapter 31

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Gwen cusses as we run across a rooftop. “Fuck, Pete, we should have seen this coming.”

“I know, I know, I know,” I say, shaking my head. We leap from the building, webbing our way ever closer to Oscorp. Thankfully, we were already in Manhattan, but even crossing from one end of the borough to the other can take a good few minutes in the best of conditions.

“What if he’s hurt her?” Gwen asks while we’re crawling along a wall, leaping and swinging to another.

“I’m just not thinking about that right now,” I say. “I think if he did, we would know.”

We reach the block where Oscorp is located and find a robotic massacre. Severed limbs, torsos, scattered wires and parts, and general robotic gibs litter the street. I land near a disembodied head, recognizing it as one of the Iron Legion.

“Plea-ea-ea-ea-eas-s-s-se vaca-a-a-a-ate the area-uh-area,” the robot stutters before the blue light of its eyes flickers and fades out. In the back of my head, the constant throbbing buzz of Harry’s rage continues to pulse.

He’s angrier than he’s ever been before.

“Where is—Peter, look out!”

Just as she speaks, my spider-sense blasts in my head, and I leap out of the way as the Iron Goblin sails into view, having obviously been thrown by something. The armor rolls once and skids to a halt, slowing its momentum with its thrusters before standing.

“Oh my gosh,” Gwen frets, running over. “Are you okay, Mr. Osborn?”

“ _Guess again_ ,” a very not-male voice says as the armor turns to us. “ _Holy shit, though, it’s good to see you. Can you calm him down_?”

“MJ?” I ask. Even with the slight synthetic quality of her voice, I recognize it in a second. “What…how did – “

“ _Let’s talk later, yeah_?” she says, and thundering footsteps pound quickly toward us. “ _After we calm this guy down_.”

“Oh, God…” Gwen gasps. “Harry….”

Harry charges at us, raising one of his arms (he has six now, which is just excessive) and swiping at me, but my spider-sense gets me out of the way just in time. He spins and lunges at me again, swiping almost faster than I can jump away. With six arms, he really doesn’t have to wait between hits. Thankfully, he’s operating purely on anger right now, so his lunging movements lack finesse. I spot an opening and leap too far within his grip for him to get at me, curling two fingers onto my palm.

_Zzzzt! SHAF!_

“Nnrraaaeeeeeee!” Harry screeches up into the sky, his limbs seizing and curling in on him.

“Widow, web him!”

_THAWP-THAWP!_

With another earsplitting shriek, Harry falls to the ground, thrashing against the webs around him and snarling, snapping his teeth at us as we approach.

“Harry, you need to calm down,” Gwen says in a soft voice, kneeling next to him. “C’mon, this isn’t you.”

His gaze fixes on her, and he snarls once more, but it sounds almost petulant, like a little kid that still wants to be mad but is all tantrumed out.

A rushing sound grows in the distance, and I turn to see what looks like Tony Stark and Carol Danvers in full Iron Man and Iron Marvel (Carol’s chosen superhero name, though she’s hardly had any reason to use it) regalia landing to meet us. Following closely behind them is Norman in the Iron Patriot armor, since MJ is “borrowing” the Goblin suit.

Carol lands first. Her new armor is mostly red with blue tones and a yellow starburst shape on the chest, and it’s a bit more feminine in shape, though this appears to be purely an aesthetic thing. Tony is close behind, both of them approaching as Harry thrashes once more but begins to change. The coarse spider hair fades, the extra limbs shrinking out of existence, and his face starts to morph back into the one we know and love, though absent is the goofy grin he tends to wear pretty much all the time. Soon, it’s just Harry, though unconscious.

“ _Oh, Harry_ ,” Carol says, turning to Tony then back to us. “ _What…what happened_?”

Norman lands last, hurrying over and looking down at his son just as the transformation completes. His facemask is expressionless, but I can hear the concern in his curt tone as he looks from MJ wearing his armor to us and then to Tony and Carol.

“ _Tony, can you take him back inside_?” he asks, and Tony strolls past us to Harry.

“ _Sure thing, boss_ ,” he says, lifting Harry and slinging him over his shoulders in a fireman carry. “ _Off to the tower, Rapunzel_.”

He takes off, Carol close behind, and Norman turns to us.

“ _Now, you three_ ,” he says. “ _What happened?_ ”

 

The three of us end up spending the night at Oscorp, wrapped in some sort of blanket nest on the floor of Tony’s “break room” on the sixty-second floor. We wake up in the morning all wrapped up in a kind of three-way tangle of limbs, but none of us are particularly bothered by it, too distracted at the idea that Harry is in a lot of trouble over what happened, and the three of us are probably not off the hook just yet.

Oscorp is fully stocked with showers, and Tony was kind enough to have a fresh change of clothes brought for each of us, as well as a Burger King bag stuffed with at least four of everything on the breakfast menu.

“Red here’ll get, what, two?” he asks, passing the bag over to us as we head for the elevator. “Maybe three. You seem like a girl that’ll eat a huge breakfast and jog it out an hour later. You two, though, you have that super-soldier metabolism. You’ll just gorge on the rest of it and be hungry in three more hours. Four? Probably three.”

Does he just guess everything right?

After a breakfast of about four croissan’wiches, three hashed brown patties, and a large orange Hi-C, we’re all three escorted down to the sub-basement levels. As we ride the elevator, I wonder if Aunt May is coming in today. She usually has weekends off, but she’s told me that she sometimes comes in on Sundays simply for something to do besides putter around the house looking for things to clean. I’ve asked her a few times how she likes her job at Oscorp, and each time, she’s had nothing but positive things to say. Her coworkers treat her great, the work is hard but rewarding, and everyone’s really nice to her.

If nothing else, I’m grateful to Norman Osborn for giving her this opportunity. I’ve glimpsed Aunt May’s paystubs, and I know he’s paying her a lot more than most janitorial workers make, but it’s better than outright charity and it gives her something to do outside of the house and around people that treat her well.

Can I really be upset at that?

We reach our destination, which I can only guess is like a mile underground or something, because there are no windows along the hallway we emerge into, and the air is stale, like it’s been pumped down from the surface and lost a bit of freshness since then. A chameleon bot leads us along the tiled hall, Gwen latched onto one of my arms and MJ holding tightly to the other. I don’t know why we’re all so terrified; Harry’s probably just knocked out on some medical cot in a very well-furnished cell of sorts or even just in aforementioned cell playing video games or something. Stoic Norman Osborn may be, but just because he hides his feelings doesn’t mean he doesn’t have _any_.

Stepping through a door into a small room, we find Mr. Osborn himself waiting to greet us. On the wall opposite the one he leans against, a large TV screen shows Harry just as I imagined, sleeping on a cot. He doesn’t even look like he’s been knocked out, just sleeping off a rather rough night. MJ said he got pretty toasty at the dance last night, so I have no doubt he’s going to be nursing one hell of a hangover when he does wake.

“When I first heard you three had in fact been bitten by those spiders,” Norman says as we enter, “and were running around fighting crime as vigilante superheroes, no less, I was…understandably concerned. Harry…is all I have left. My parents died by the time I’d graduated from college, my wife passed when Harry was only two, and I have no extended family to speak of. It’s just me and my son, the last two remaining members of the Osborn family. He’s my world, and seeing him running around risking his life day after day, well…you can see why I was so upset when I heard the news.”

He turns to us, to me, looking me in the eyes. “But then he told me why he was doing such reckless things,” he goes on. “He said he was doing it because you inspired him to use his gifts to change the world. Peter…. I don’t blame you for anything that’s happened. I was and still am so proud of you, and I’m grateful that you’ve come into my son’s life and taught him such compassion.”

He looks back to the screen, sighing and pressing his fingers to his temples, massaging them in small circles. “But…this…this thing he turns into is…. It complicates things in a new and disturbing way.”

“We had no idea, Mr. Osborn,” Gwen says, gripping my arm. “We told you, we – “

“I believe you,” he cuts over her. “Or…rather, I believe that _you_ wanted to believe that it would all work out, that you would be there to talk him out of situations like what happened. I think I’m actually glad that you were willing to make such a gamble on him. You trusted him completely, and I’m glad Harry has such loyal friends. However, with what went on…. He’s a danger. To himself, to others. You understand, don’t you?”

And all at once, I do.

“You have a cure,” I say, glancing up at him. After all this time, all of the situations he’s handled, the spider bite victims he’s dealt with, it’s no stretch to conclude that he’s figured out some way to reverse the effects. “You’re going to take his powers away.”

“Oh, Harry…” Gwen says, stepping away from me and peering at the screen. “No, you…Mr. Osborn, there’s…there’s no other way?”

“You have to understand, Gwen,” Norman says, looking to her and then at the screen. “This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly. But even if he’s my son, even if he only means to do good with these powers, everything you’ve told me indicates that he also has to deal with a…a ‘Hulk factor’, as you put it. I’ll not have my son living as Bruce Banner does, struggling to keep his anger in check day after day, constantly worried that he’ll snap and…do something he’ll regret. Not when there’s a solution so close at hand.”

I stare at the screen as well, watching Harry sleeping peacefully, unaware that his entire world is about to come crashing down around him. Unbidden, I remember his phone call from the night we got our powers, his tentative excitement at realizing he could crawl along walls just like us.

_“So, you guys are getting the wall-crawl thing, too, right? Because I’m calling you from literally my ceiling.”_

“Pete,” Gwen says, turning back to me with tears running down her cheeks. “Pete, he’ll be so heartbroken. He loves having these powers. Please, Mr. Osborn, there’s…nothing else that can be done?”

“Believe me, Gwendolyne, if there was any other way, I would be pursuing it with every resource at my disposal,” Norman says, his voice grave. “But I can’t in good conscience allow Harry free reign with these powers if there’s a constant threat of him turning into that…that thing.”

“Guys,” Mary Jane says from her spot near the door, and we turn to her. “I mean, he has a really good point. I saw the whole thing firsthand, and…if we can get rid of it….”

Gwen sighs, and I know how she feels. It’s easy enough for Norman and Mary Jane to say we should get rid of Harry’s spider side, but they weren’t there. When we were stumbling headlong into this whole adventure, there was a sort of unspoken bond that formed. We were already three best friends, but the spider-bite thing was…well, it felt like it was supposed to be a lifelong pact of sorts. To get grandiose, it was a covenant, a promise that the three of us would have each other’s backs, no matter what. I can think of several times that Harry’s saved both of us from certain death in the course of our vigilante escapades, and we’ve each pulled his ass from the fire on multiple occasions.

And Norman is about to take that all away.

The worst part is, I can’t think of any good reason he shouldn’t.

“He’ll be heartbroken,” Gwen repeats, staring up at me with teary eyes.

“He will,” I say, sighing. “But we tried it our way. We thought we could keep it in check, but…we can’t spend the rest of our lives making sure Harry’s always nearby so we can calm him down. It’s not fair to us, and it’s…it’s just demeaning to him.”

“It…yeah,” she says with a shake of her head. “Yeah, you’re right. And he’ll have us.”

“I’m sorry, you two,” Norman says. “I really wish there was another way, but to try and ignore the problem would be irresponsible.”

Well, he has me there. I preach about responsibility enough that it would be the worst sort of hypocrisy to continue like this. I sigh and glance back up at him.

“When are you planning to do it?” I ask.

“I was actually having a Chameleon bot prepare the serum we use while we were discussing this,” Norman says, gesturing at the TV screen, where a door slides open to the cell Harry is in. On the bed, Harry stirs with a soft groan.

“Ah, fuck,” he grumbles, his eyes blearily blinking open.

“Is he supposed to be awake?” I ask, and Norman shakes his head.

“We gave him enough tranquilizer to knock him out for hours,” he says, hurrying toward the screen. I follow.

“Yeah, about that,” I say. “Chemicals and whatnot…we sort of just burn right through them.”

“Harry,” Norman says into a little intercom next to the screen. “This is your father. Stay calm.”

“You locked me in a cell!?” Harry yells, jumping up and backing away from the Chameleon bot. “Dad, what the fuck!”

“Harry, I need you to remain calm,” Norman repeats. “You’re injured. That’s an injection of sedative to help you sleep off the ordeal.”

“That’s bullshit!” Harry says, his shoulders hunching as he glares at the bot. “You stay the fuck away from me!”

“Harry, please, just take a deep breath,” Gwen says imploringly into the intercom. “Pete and I are right here.”

“No, no, he’s…he’s got you guys against your will or something!” Harry yells, his voice getting alarmingly deeper. He lunges at a wall, and a crack appears in it. His arms elongate, and his back arches in a sort of feral hunch. Coarse hair is already sprouting along his arms and legs.

This could be a problem.

“Harry, we’re fine,” I say into the intercom. “We’re all here, your dad isn’t – “

“Just hold on!” Harry yells, apparently under the impression that his dad has gone crazy and is holding us all against our will or something. It would be heartwarming if it wasn’t so potentially dangerous to a lot of people involved. He tries to say something else, but his mouth is too warped to make much more than a snarling, screeching sound. He slams into the wall again and busts through.

“Jarvis I need a containment unit down to sub-basement level twelve,” Norman snaps. “Shut down the elevators to the basement floors and tell all personnel to initiate level seven lockdown procedures. You two,” he points to Gwen and me, “come with me. Mary Jane, stay here.”

“Yeah, yeah, no-power-girl just hides,” she says wryly, reaching out for my wrist as we leave. “Be careful.”

“Always,” I say with a grin, and she smiles sadly as we run out of the room and down the hallway, away from the elevator and toward the sound of the commotion.

“Where is he, Jarvis?” Norman asks.

“ _Sir, Young Mister Osborn has breached the symbiote containment room_ ,” Jarvis says, his voice strangely urgent. “ _Subject Zero is escaping confinement_.”

Norman’s face pales, and he comes to a dead stop. “No…” he says in a low voice, turning to us. “You two, get back to Mary Jane, now! Jarvis, send everything down here.”

“ _Sir, I’m afraid I don’t underst_ – “

“Everything!” Norman says, yelling at the ceiling where Jarvis’s speakers are set. “All of the armor, every spare Iron Legion member we have, everything that can possibly fight! And tell Tony it’s time to test out his pet project.”

“What’s going on?” I ask him, and he just ushers the both of us back the way we came.

“Harry’s found the one thing that can make this situation worse, of course,” Norman says matter-of-factly, and at the end of the hall, a deafening shriek sounds.

“WE! ARE! VENOM!”


	32. Chapter 32

I’ve heard of the concept of life “throwing you a curve ball” before, and I’ve even thought to myself a few times that I was experiencing the phenomenon myself. Sudden Friday homework, a random change of plans to hang out over the weekend, little speedbumps in the road of life.

Now, though, as I watch the hulking black form of Harry Osborn charge toward me like a gorilla, rushing past and pounding the elevator open before disappearing inside, I realize that I just never truly understood what life considers a “curve ball”. Because I’ve been thrown one for real for the first time.

I well and truly have no idea what’s going on.

“He’s climbing the elevator shaft!” Norman yells. “Jarvis, keep track of him!”

“ _Yes, Mr. Osborn_ ,” Jarvis says coolly. “ _I have contacted Mr. Stark, and he and Miss Danvers are mobilizing. Shall I send along the Iron Goblin armor as well_?”

Norman looks over to where Mary Jane is peeking out of the room we were just in, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Send the Patriot armor too,” he says.

“ _Of course, sir_.”

“Am I fighting, too?” Mary Jane asks, sounding nervously excited as she emerges from the room.

Norman sighs. “You will be there as a last resort for these two,” he says with a gesture at Gwen and me as we all make our way to the elevator. “If they’re hurt to the point that they can’t fight anymore, you’re going to cover their escape. Under _no_ circumstances are you to actually _join_ the fight.”

She glances at the two of us and nods. “Guardian angel duty isn’t a bad role for my first ever team-up,” she says with a shrug. “So…um…what happened?”

“Jarvis said something about Subject Zero,” I say, glancing at Norman. “What _did_ happen?”

Norman shakes his head as the elevator takes us up. “It’s a longer story than I have time to tell right now, but the short version is that Harry is playing host to a creature we only barely understand the nature of, and we need to separate them before things get too out of hand.”

We arrive on the ground floor to see that the entrance is an absolute wreck. No piece of furniture is left whole, and most of the glass front of the building has been shattered and is left in heaps of shards all over the ground. Outside, it’s chaos as people are running every which way, not sure where _to_ run except away from the building Harry just emerged from. Harry himself is nowhere to be found, which is the most worrying fact of all.

“Jarvis?” Norman asks as we emerge from the elevator.

“ _Young Mr. Osborn is heading due west_ ,” the AI says. “ _The Iron Legion is diverting traffic and evacuating pedestrians, and Mr. Stark and Miss Danvers are in pursuit. The Iron Goblin and Iron Patriot armors have been deployed out back_.”

“Mary Jane, with me,” Norman says, and as the two of them run off, a Chameleon bot approaches with our backpacks, which have our costumes neatly folded inside. Gwen opens hers and looks at me with fierce determination.

“Peter, Harry needs us.”

“Then let’s go kick his ass until he’s all better again.”

 

Minutes later, we’re climbing the side of the building across the street from Oscorp. Sirens are sounding in the distance, and the din of shouting voices and car horns blaring mingles with the rushing wind past our ears as we swing, creating a cacophony around us. The street zooms below us as we head west, and Jarvis’s voice sounds in the little earwigs I found in with our costumes.

“ _Target within sight_ ,” he says. “ _It appears that Mr. Stark has engaged him with the Symbiote Containment Armor_.”

We swing in, and I land atop a taxi, Gwen perching on a nearby Lexus. Underneath me a door opens, and a man climbs out of the taxi, staring up at me with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, Spider-Man!” he yells, glancing from me to the middle of the street. I don’t even need to say anything before he just turns and runs. “Good luck, my dude!”

Nice to meet a smart pedestrian once in a while.

I glance up to see Tony in a new all-black suit of armor, holding out his arms toward…oh, fuck….

“Oh, God,” Gwen says softly. “Harry, no….”

If Harry’s Tarantula-Hulk form was hard to look at, whatever has him now has morphed it into something straight out of a horror game. The black monstrosity snarling at Tony looks like it could be found in the SCP Containment Breach game that made the internet rounds a few years ago. Harry’s put on a good hundred pounds of muscle mass, all six of his arms corded with thick muscle, and he now hunches like a gorilla on his two “main” arms. Looking closer, I see the upper pair of arms’ fingers are dribbling a sickening green-black fluid that smokes when it hits the pavement beneath him.

The most jarring change is to his face, though; It was already an ugly spidery monstrosity before, but now the eight eyes are glowing a poisonous green above a set of cruel, curved mandibles, and his mouth seems to have sprouted three extra sets of teeth, all long and wicked-looking. To top off the animalistic monster look, a long, drooling tongue lashes at the air in front of him.

I don’t know why, but I hate the way that hideous mouth looks like it’s curved into a grin, like whatever thing took Harry over is laughing at its victory.

Somewhere in there is my best friend.

“ _Nice of you to join us, you two_ ,” Tony says in my ear. “ _I was just about to show your friend what intense low-frequency soundwaves do to symbiotes_.”

_Kreeng-WHOOM!_

Instead of the usual repulsor blast, a barely-visible ripple of force flies at Harry, and he rears back with a screech, the black…thing on him rippling into a series of tendrils and coalescing back onto him before he charges at Tony, who takes off and flies into the air, firing a series of soundwaves at Harry.

“I…I don’t know what to do,” Gwen says, glancing at me, and I reach out and snag her hand.

“We keep him contained and peel that thing off of him if we have to,” I say.

She nods, leaping at Harry and holding her arms out.

_THAWP-THAWP!_

Harry is stopped mid-jump as he leaps at Tony, who fires another soundwave at him. Letting a screeching roar at the armored figure, he swings his upper set of hands at the webbing, the venom splashing onto it and eating right through it, and leaps at Tony with incredible speed. Tony veers away, but not fast enough, as Harry latches onto him, weighing him down.

“ _Jarvis, drop the bass!_ ” I hear over the intercom as I hurry over. The sound around me fades to nothing, and I slow to a stop. Looking up, I feel the ground around me shudder as Tony’s suit drops the bass, presumably, playing some really intense soundwaves that cause Harry to release him. The symbiote reels, falling to the ground in a heap at my feet before standing and fixing me with an eight-eyed glare.

“Oh, shit,” I say, leaping back as he swipes at me. He’s fast, much faster than he was, and I have to rely on my spider-sense to help me duck and weave away from his swipes. He raises a venomous claw, but before he can swipe, a web latches onto it, jerking him back.

“Harry, it’s us!” Gwen shouts, tugging at Harry’s wrist. He rounds on her, screeching and tearing toward her, but Tony lands right between them.

_Kreeng-WHOOM!_

The sound blast causes him to falter, but he continues his charge, raising all six arms and grabbing Tony before he can fly away, hurling him at a building. The brick gives easily to the heavy suit, and I hear Tony’s grunt over the earwig as he impacts something inside the building. I don’t have time to worry about him, though, as Harry is still running at Gwen, who webs up his feet.

“Tony!” she shouts, looking toward the building.

“ _Okay, first of all, secret identity_ ,” Tony says over the radio, his voice strained but still managing his snide tone. “ _Second, I’m good, but I think I’m out for the count. Danvers, what are you up to_?”

“ _Norman and I are inbound, you two_ ,” Carol says. “ _Sit tight_.”

Easier said than done. Harry is melting away Gwen’s webs with his acid again, snarling at Gwen.

“Harry, we’re your friends,” Gwen says imploringly. “Whatever that thing is doing to you, you need to fight it.”

“ _No fighting_ ,” Harry says, his voice sounding twisted and much deeper. “ _We are tired of being denied. Things taken from us. No more!_ ”

“Harry, what are you talking about?” I ask, holding my hands out to my sides in a peaceable gesture. “C’mon, let’s talk this out.”

“ _We have nothing to say to_ you _, Parker_ ,” he snarls. “ _You’ve taken enough from him._ ”

“What have I taken from you?”

“ _Everything that matters!_ ” Harry yells, that huge, toothy mouth opening wide in a roar. _“While he languishes alone and unloved, his father, his first love, the redheaded temptress, all of them fawn and fall for_ you _, always_ you _! No more! He’s had a taste of real power, of what_ we _can be! We are Venom! And you will NOT TAKE THAT FROM US!_ ”

“ _Harry, is that what you think?_ ” Norman’s voice says as the Iron Goblin armor lands nearby, the Iron Marvel flying into the building Tony was thrown into, I assume to make sure he’s alright. “ _That I prefer Parker to my own child?_ ”

“Dad…” the symbiote says in a voice that’s much more like Harry’s, and the mouth seems to close up, the teeth oozing together into a smooth face that looks more like Harry’s when it’s behind his mask. “You betrayed me. You wanna take my powers….”

“ _For your own safety_ ,” Norman says, the large, flat head of his armor shaking left to right. “ _Harry, everything I’ve done, everything I do, is for you. Your friends…they’re like family to me because they’re family to_ you _. But I would never place them_ above _you._ ”

“Harry, we love you,” Gwen says, walking slowly up to him. “This thing…it’s making you not yourself.”

The symbiote pulses around him, and suddenly, Harry’s back hunches and cracks, tendrils shooting out of it as his face explodes into that huge grin again. “ _Away from us, girl! You won’t fool us with your empty words!_ ”

He spins, rounding on Gwen with a huge, meaty hand.

“Harry, please ju – “ Gwen’s voice cuts off as Harry backhands her, sending her flying into a car hard enough that it shudders on its wheels, the glass shattering over her as she crumples on the ground.

“GWEN!” I shout, and it’s like tunnel vision, nothing in the world existing but her and the distance between us, which I close without even realizing it, hopping over obstacles and dashing to her side. I drop to my knees, holding my hands over her but not sure what to do. “No, nonononono, you’re fine. Wake up, Gwen, shake it off. That’s what we do.”

A rushing sound fills my ears, and I turn to see MJ in the Iron Patriot armor landing nearby.

“Oh, God, oh no,” she says, leaning over Gwen. “Jarvis, is she okay?”

“ _Life signs are faint but still registering_ ,” Jarvis’s voice sounds in my ear. “ _She should not be moved without proper care, however. I will dispatch a team of Chameleon bots to move her safely. In the meantime, I would suggest keeping the symbiote away from her._ ”

I stand and turn to see that Norman has engaged his son, but the bulky armor is too slow for Harry’s enhanced speed, which is incredibly fast despite his size, and Norman’s doing little more than just getting beaten up. I spot that manic grin and realize that the symbiote isn’t just some thing that’s warping Harry’s mind; it’s a whole other consciousness that’s taking him over and making him fight us, using his own insecurities against him.

And it has to be stopped.

I told Gwen we were going to kick his ass until he was better again. Time to do it.

“ _You’re too slow for us!_ ” the symbiote shouts, tossing Norman aside like a ragdoll. “ _This cumbersome shell you wear is no match for our might!_ ”

“Then maybe I am!” I shout at him, leaping onto a bus and staring across car-strewn battlefield we’ve created at the symbiote. Venom just levels that leering grin at me.

“ _Parker…._ ”

“Congrats, you know my name,” I say, my hands shaking with anger. “I was ready to talk this out, but you fucked up. Harry, if you can hear me in there, I’m sorry about this, but it looks like the only way to get you out of that thing is to go Chris Brown on you.”

The symbiote chuckles, leering at me. “ _Then come stand under our umbrella_.”

I run at him, and he charges, the ground shaking a bit as he lumbers alarmingly fast toward me. My spider-sense clangs, and I leap just as he swipes at me, shooting a web around his ankles and sailing over his back. I land on a wall, clinging to it with one hand and tugging at the webbing with the other. Harry’s feet fly forward and out from under him, causing him to smash to the ground on his back. I quickly fire a couple of webs at his ankles and all six of his wrists, leaping and curling my pinky and ring fingers into my palms.

_Zzzzt-SHAF!_

The symbiote curls away from the spot where I zap Harry’s stomach, and he struggles before ripping free of the webbing, lunging at me with his venomous claws, which I dodge. He grabs me in a meaty hand and throws me just as he did Gwen, but I’m ready for it, twisting in the air and shooting a web at a traffic light post. I swing around it, flying back at him, and kick him in the chest, sending him into the pavement as I spring over him and land. Not letting up, I run in give him another good zap on the back.

_Zzzzt-SHAF!_

He screeches and turns to me with another swipe, but I’m ready, leaping out of the way of both that one and the second hand he tries to intercept me with.

“ _No quips or witty banter_?” Venom says as I jump away from the fight. “ _We were under the impression that you enjoyed taunting your opponents! Too terrified_?”

He snaps his teeth, charging at me, spinning and jabbing his venomous hands at me. I duck under them, jumping too far into his reach for him to get me. He’s fast, but I’m still slightly faster, and while he may be more agile than the Iron Goblin, I’ve still got him beat.

“Too slow,” I tell him, holding out a hand to zap him.

_Zzzzt-SHAF!_

He leaps away and roars again, pounding the ground and snarling at me before tearing for me and raising his fists, bringing them down to smash the pavement where I was just standing and sending a cloud of dust flying up. As I flip out of his way, I catch a glimpse of a sign in front of a store.

_“Audio Systems 10% Off All Week!”_

That’s it! Sound messes with symbiotes, right? I’m just beginning to formulate a plan when I look back and see I’ve been holding still for too long.

“ _Too slow!_ ” Venom says, mockingly repeating my words, rearing his fists back again and bringing them down –

_Ker-THOOM!_

Onto a translucent bluish bubble? Venom snarls and smashes his fists into the barrier, but it doesn’t budge, only shimmering and growing more opaque where it’s hit.

“Thought you could use some help!” a new voice says, and a kid a few years older than me runs toward me from around a corner. He has short, messy blond hair and a blue uniform with a number three emblazoned on the chest in a circle.

“Johnny Storm?” I ask, and he grins.

“Hey, you know me!” he says. “Spider-Man knows _me_. Huge fan of your work.”

“Johnny, more important stuff happening right now,” another voice says. A woman hurries up to us, and holy crap, it’s Sue Storm. She holds her hands back, growing them into giant fists. “Drop the barrier, three…two…one!”

The barrier dissipates, and Sue decks Venom with enough force to send him flying, the symbiote screeching the entire time. She turns to me with a smile, her hands shrinking as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Hello, Spider-Man,” she says. “We saw you on the news, and we thought you might need some help.”

“Didn’t know you guys were back in town,” I say, glancing back at the electronics store. “Where’s the Human Torch?”

As if in response, a fireball lands nearby, coalescing into the bulky shape of Ben Grimm before fading and revealing the man himself, who smirks at me.

“How’s it goin’, Spidey?” he asks.

“Could be better,” I say, glancing at them. “Um…so, thanks for the help, and I have a plan, and I kinda just need you guys to roll with this, and I’ll explain later?”

“Tell us where to go,” Johnny says.

“Okay, so, that’s my best friend who’s got an alien goo thing latched onto him, and they hate soundwaves,” I say. “I’m gonna get him into that store, where there’s a ton of sound equipment that I need turned on.”

“On it,” Sue says, hurrying for the store, her limbs extending and rapidly tapping buttons.

“Wow, you guys just made this so much easier,” I say, looking at Ben. “Um, do you think you could flare up after we get him in the store, kind corral him? I know the spider-things hate fire, so….”

“You say the word, I’ll let ‘er rip, kid,” Ben nods.

“Johnny,” I say, turning to him. “If he does break perimeter, I need you to wall him in, steer him back, and when that black thing oozes off him, contain it and make sure it doesn’t touch anyone else.”

“Sure thing,” he says, grinning. “Dude, this is so cool. I’m working with Spider-Man!”

“He’s a fan,” Ben says flatly.

“Flattered,” I tell him, glancing back to see Venom roaring as he charges back at us.

“ _Do you think you can just get rid of us!?_ ” he yells. “ _We are not so easily brushed aside_!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of getting rid of you!” I yell back. “I just thought you’d like a moment to come up with a strategy to actually fucking _hit me_!”

His speed picks up, and he barrels at me. Holding out my hands, I web up his ankles.

_THWIP-THWIP!_

He flies forward, and another few webs see his arms pinned to his sides as his momentum carries him on a slide into the store. The webbing won’t hold, but it shouldn’t have to if this goes right.

“Sue!” I yell, and she presses a few buttons.

“ _SAIL!_ ”

_BWAAAAHHHM!_

Oh, how lucky. AWOLNATION drops the bass, and Harry screeches, the symbiote lashing at the surrounding speakers.

“Johnny, can you block him!?” I call. Johnny nods, watching the symbiote’s movements and creating small barriers as his tendrils whip around, protecting the speakers and ensuring he gets the proper dosage of wubs.

 _“This is how I show my love!_ ”

_BWAAAAAHHHM!_

Deciding to escape, the symbiote withdraws from Harry, peeling away to reveal the spider-mutated form of my friend, which quickly starts to shrink down into his normal form.

It’s working.

“Ben, block him!”

“Light ‘em up!” Ben says, holding his arms out and flaring up into the Human Torch. Curiously, the symbiote shrinks away from the fire as well, apparently scared of it. As soon as the last bits of it leave Harry, a translucent barrier appears around it, and we all approach as the symbiote thrashes around the sphere.

“Do you have it, Jonny?” Sue asks, and Johnny nods.

“It’s strong, but nothing I can’t keep in,” he says, glancing at me. “Okay, what are we doing with it?”

“It doesn’t seem to like fire,” I say with a glare at the creature. “Let’s find out why. Ben, how hot can you make your flames?”

“I love it when people ask questions like that,” Ben says, stepping forward and holding his hands out. Johnny opens a small hole in the top of the barrier, and the symbiote tries to charge out, but the presence of Ben’s flaming hands makes it shrink away. Ben fires a jet of white-hot flame, and Venom shrieks, black smoke billowing out.

Five seconds of continuous fire later, the smoke is gone, and so is Venom, not even ash left behind in Johnny’s barrier.

“So…we won?” Johnny asks with a hopeful look at me, and I nod, hurrying over to crouch next to Harry.

“That’s Harry Osborn,” Sue says, also kneeling. I glance at her, and she gives me a small shake of her head. “Hey, I won’t tell, promise. Besides, Johnny would hate me if I made Spider-Man mad. He has a man-crush on you – “

“Sue, for real, fuck off,” Johnny says, also rushing over and kneeling next to me to examine Harry. “Is he okay?”

Sue checks his pulse, nodding. “Steady pulse,” she says softly. “He should definitely get medical attention, though. I don’t know what that thing was, but it can’t have been good for his body.”

“ _A team of Chameleon bots is on the way_ ,” Norman’s voice says, and I turn to see the Iron Goblin armor looking a lot worse for wear as it steps into the store. Several plates are missing, revealing wires and framework beneath them, and as he speaks, a small spark shoots from one of his shoulders. “ _Thank you three for helping Spider-Man and…and my son._ ”

“It’s what we do,” Sue says with a smile at me. “Besides, like I said, Johnny’s a big fan.”

Norman steps forward with heavy footfalls, and I stand, looking up at him.

“Gwen?” I ask, and his faceplate turns down to look at me.

“She’s alright,” he says, and I let out a sigh that seems to fill my whole being until I’m flopping onto the ground, letting a choked noise of relief.

“Good,” is all I can say. “Good. She…is she hurt at all?”

“Her left arm is…not in good shape,” Norman says. “Connors set it, and it’s healing quite well, but it was broken in four places.”

“Fuck,” I say, looking at the Trio. “I…thank you guys so much, but I really…I mean, I’m kind of insanely in love with this girl, and….”

“Go,” Sue says with another smile. “We’ll stay with your friend and Norman until help gets here.”

“Thanks again for the help,” I say, already backing out of the store and dashing down the street, webbing back up into the air and back to Oscorp.

Knowing Gwen, she’s probably as worried about me as I am about her.

 

“Pete!” she squeaks when I step into the small onsite medical clinic at Oscorp, holding out her right hand.

_THAWP!_

I’m webbed and pulled toward her before she gingerly wraps her good arm around me and presses her lips against mine in a kiss.

“Oh my gosh,” she whimpers, and then kisses me again. “I was so worried.” More kisses. “I just woke up like two minutes ago. How is he? Is he okay, did you get that thing away from him?”

“He’s fine, and yes,” I say. “It’s gone. The Terrific Trio showed up to help, and Ben Grimm incinerated that thing. It won’t bother us anymore.”

“Oh…” Gwen sighs in relief, slumping back against her pillows. “Oh, thank God. This has been…absolutely, without a doubt, the worst weekend ever. The worst _week_ ever. You get kidnapped, Harry turns into a giant spider monster, gets taken over by some alien symbiote thing and turned into an _even bigger_ giant spider monster, and oh yeah, my arm is broken in like four places.”

“Does it hurt?” I ask, and Gwen shrugs, looking down at her arm, which is wrapped in a cast. Tony has already taken the liberty of signing it, even, his loopy signature accompanied by a little drawing of his Iron Man mask.

“Not really,” she says, sounding surprised. She wiggles her fingers, waving the arm around. “I dunno, I don’t wanna risk fucking my arm up at all, so I’ll just wait for Dr. Connors to take a look at it. Maybe we have a super-fast healing thing, too?”

“Well, even if we do, let’s give it longer than twenty minutes, hm?” I suggest, tugging at the web she stuck to my shirt.

“You may only need about two hours,” Dr. Connors says, walking into the room and placing an X-ray on the light near the door, showing what I assume to be Gwen’s arm. “I’ve never seen such a rapid rate of healing, at least in a case I’ve been personally connected to. Gwen, your arm should be ship-shape before the afternoon.”

“Yay for me,” Gwen says with a little smile. “I was worried I’d have to sit out patrol and worry about Pete while he was beating up bad guys.”

“Doc, how’s Harry?” I ask, and Connors just chuckles, shaking his head.

“He just asked after you two,” he says. “You lot spend all your time worrying about each other, never yourselves. Harry is doing alright. Norman…has begun the procedure to remove his powers. The process will likely take about an hour or so. In the meantime, I’ve run some blood tests, and the symbiote has left no lasting damage. When all this is through, he’ll be a perfectly healthy teenager.”

Gwen sighs again, and I settle into the chair next to her bed with a matching sound.

“Good,” she says. “I hate that it’s come to this, but at least he’s okay.”

“But since you mentioned it,” I say, glancing up at him. “The symbiote. What _was_ it?”

Connors sighs, making his way over to a seat and settling into it. He places his hands together and rests his chin on the fingertips as he stares at us.

“First of all, like all things we end up discussing, this is classified information,” he says. “SHIELD hasn’t even been given the full story. Several years ago, Norman and I had just gotten our first government contract, a new type of body armor that I think still sees use today. I took my wife out to dinner to celebrate. It was the first time in years I felt financially secure, able to support  her and…actually provide for her. We had…had a bit to drink, and we were wandering through Central Park when something crashed into the trees near the path. We thought maybe it was a piece of equipment from a light post or some random piece of debris from a helicopter. Something…innocuous like that, you know. What we found was…a meteorite.”

“Like…an actual space meteorite?” I ask, and he nods.

“The scientist in me immediately knew I needed to collect it, take it back to the lab, study it,” he says. “Here was a piece of the universe, just tossed right into my lap. I called Norman, and he had a team bring it back here. The next day, we poked it, prodded it at, ran every test we could, and finally…it came out.”

“Venom,” Gwen says. Connors nods.

“At the time, we only knew it as Subject Zero,” he says. “It…actually latched onto me as its first host.”

“That thing was on _you_?” I ask, and he nods, shrugging.

“At first, I was…terrified, of course,” he says. “But I could sense that it was…intrigued by me. It meant no ill will. All it wanted to do was help me, to further my goals in this world. I think that’s what…whatever it is…is all about. It just reads what we want and helps us reach that. The problem is, it’s very…zealous about those goals.”

“Zealous here meaning that it’ll step on whoever it wants to reach those goals,” I say.

“It was a scant twelve hours before Norman noticed that I was exhibiting very aggressive, antagonistic tendencies,” Connors says with a grim nod. “I was forgoing sleep to continue studying, and when he suggested I take a break from the symbiote, I grew…enraged. You see…when Subject Zero was joined with me…I had my arm back.”

“Oh,” Gwen says softly, both of us glancing at his robotic arm.

“It was pure happenstance that we discovered the symbiote’s aversion to soundwaves,” Connors says. “Stark had just joined up with us and built a prototype for his repulsor technology. Thanks to a…bit of a mis-calibration, the symbiote and I got a dose of high-frequency sound, and it retreated. We contained it and have been trying to understand what it is ever since.”

“Until now,” I say, and Connors nods.

“Yes, I think that line of experimentation has been soundly put to an end,” he says with a short nod.

“Poor Harry, though,” I mutter, shaking my head. “We were talking about a shitty weekend, but most of the shit fell on him. We just got splattered with it.”

“Wow, that analogy really does work well for this whole thing,” Tony says as he strides in. His forehead has a few bandaged up cuts, and there’s a bruise swelling up on his arm, but he otherwise looks in okay shape. “I try for that kind of symbolism, things just…fall apart. So, after-action report? Anyone getting court-martialed? There’s been one honorable discharge, but I think he’ll bounce back. Probably just needs a little sabbatical, some time away. I hear Aspen is lovely this time of year.”

“Tony, your forehead,” Gwen says worriedly, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Gwen, your arm,” he repeats in a mock-anxious tone. “You three, I swear. We have…Harry Potter,” he points to me, “Hermione Granger”, a gesture at Gwen, “and poor Ron is in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey, how is he doing?”

“He’ll mend,” Curt says with a wry smile, peering at Tony’s forehead and the bandage. “Someone’s already seen to you, I see. Utilitarian, but effective. Danvers’s work?”

“We played a little doctor, but there was no time for the rectal exam, thank goodness,” Tony says, and Gwen snorts, letting a little squeak of laughter before hiding her mouth behind her hands, eyes going wide. Tony winks at her. “No, I was just checking up on you two, seeing if you were beating yourselves up over the whole depowering thing. Naturally, you are.”

“I just…I hate that it had to happen,” Gwen says. “I know people can accomplish great things without powers, but I can’t imagine having to lose them after you’ve already actually _gotten_ them.”

“Like I said, he’ll bounce back,” Tony says, leaning against the wall. “A little time off, cross-country road trip, decompress, realign the chakras, he’ll be right as rain.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask, and Tony gives me a one-sided smirk.

“When Obie kicked me out of Stark Industries, I piled the last of my worldly belongings into the trunk of my ’67 Mustang and drove across the entire country to New York, having all of your stereotypical wacky road-trip adventures along the way,” he says. “Out in the middle of some country road with nothing but cows and grass all around, all your favorite tunes at full blast, and the open road ahead of you, you get some real good thinking done. Might be just what your pal needs to sort himself out.”

“A road trip does sound just like the kind of classic movie distraction Harry would go for,” I say with a small smile. “I’d miss him, though.”

“Take it from a guy who’s had his life fall into an absolute mess, sometimes it’s better not to have your friends around when you’re picking yourself back up,” Tony says. “You don’t want anyone to see you that way, and you wanna put things back together on your own. Otherwise, all you’re doing is beating yourself up for not being able to take care of yourself.”

“Tony, that’s…actually really profound,” Gwen says, sounding pleasantly shocked. “You should write a book.”

“Hm…Jarvis,” Tony says.

“ _Yes, sir_?” Jarvis asks from the ceiling.

“Start compiling my quotable quotes into a book so I can go over them later,” he says.

“ _Writing a bestseller, sir_?”

“We can only hope,” he says, standing. “Curt? Japanese food? I’m feeling tempura, or…udon, maybe with some good teriyaki chicken from Junpei’s.”

“You know that place doesn’t have a single actual Japanese cook?” Connors says, though he follows Tony toward the door.

“It’s not in the chef, it’s in the flavor,” Tony says. “I know a guy from Kentucky, not a Mexican gene in his pool, makes the best burritos I’ve ever had. And now I want burritos.”

Connors just chuckles, glancing back at us. “You two are free to go. Gwen, stop in tomorrow before school, and we’ll see about getting that cast off of you.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I say at the same time she does, and she smiles at me, climbing from the bed and swaying a bit. I reach out to steady her.

“You alright?” I ask, and she nods.

“No concussions or anything, Connors said,” she tells me. “Just…I kinda wanna go home and go to bed for a week until all of this has blown over.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, taking her good hand and leading her out of the room. “It feels like…nothing’s gonna be the same.”

We reach the elevators, and as we wait for them, I realize that I’m not really sure where we’re going. Back to my place to just veg for the rest of the weekend? To the basement levels to check on Harry?

Wherever we’re going, food should be somewhere high on the agenda; that fight burned through that Burger King we had for breakfast in a hurry, and my stomach is making this fact abundantly clear.

“Arby’s?” Gwen asks, and I nod as we step into the elevator.

“Harry’s gonna be…” I trail off, because how do you phrase what he’s going through right now?

“…Yeah, for an hour,” Gwen says, sighing and glancing at the wall opposite us, which reflects our grim expressions right back at us. Gwen eyes our attire and glances up at me worriedly. “Oh, no, Pete, we’re still in our costumes.”

I look down in shock and realize that, yes, we’re both still wearing our uniforms, sans masks. Where did I even _leave_ my mask? That’s not something you wanna just lose track of in our line of work. “Um…Jarvis?” I look up at the little camera he has in the corner of the elevator.

“ _Your backpacks have been brought down to the lobby_ ,” Jarvis says. “ _Clothes have been packed in them, and the Chameleon bots have just finished boarding up the broken windows on the ground floor. Your identities should not be compromised_.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Gwen says with a sigh. “I was having a mini panic attack for like…two seconds.”

Jarvis announces our arrival to the lobby, and we step out to see a dozen Chamelon bots all currently posing as maintenance workers while sweeping up debris from the fight. The lobby is darker even than it usually is at night, a result of the total lack of outside lighting and several of the ceiling lights either in various states of brokenness or totally nonfunctional. At least they were kind enough not to leave the mess to the normal janitorial crew. Speaking of which….

“Jarvis, was Aunt May working today?” I ask as we make our way to the counter, where our backpacks are perched in plain view for our finding convenience.

“ _May Parker did not clock in today_ ,” Jarvis says. “ _Conversations over the past week indicate shopping plans with several coworkers_.”

“Oh, good for her,” I say. I can’t be around as often as I’d like, thanks to spider stuff, so it’s good Aunt May has a social life of some sort.

I really should make some effort to spend dinner with her one night, at least. She’s the only family I have left.

We change into our street clothes, and I dig out my phone, seeing twenty-four missed messages from Jess. She must have seen the news and gone into full panic mode. Sighing, I read the last few.

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[what is that thing!? You better be careful!]_

_[the news says it’s over, so where are you?]_

_[Peter Benjamin Parker, I will come to new York and personally kick your cute skinny ass!]_

_[okay, I got in touch with MJ, and she told me what happened]_

_[just text me when you can so I can stop crying over here]_

**_To: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[jess, I’m fine. No one died, and everything’s calmed down a little.]_

_[we’re going to get some food because we’re both incredibly hungry]_

_[I’ll tell you more about it later]_

**_From: Domestic Goddess_ **

_[okay. Thanks for texting me : ) I was freaking out over here]_

_[take care. Love you]_

“I didn’t know Jess and MJ kept in touch,” I say as Gwen and I make our way down the sidewalk. Emergency crews are already cleaning up, but there’s little actual structural damage, since Harry spent most of his rampage just tossing cars around the streets. There’ll be a lot of auto insurance claims in the coming weeks, but I imagine quite a few of them will be receiving anonymous checks from Norman Osborn.

“We all actually have Facebook group chat, all three of us girls?” Gwen says. “We talk about how cute and helpless you are and how much we have to take care of you while you save the world.”

“Wait, for real?” I ask.

“No, dork,” Gwen says, giggling. “I told MJ to add Jess on Facebook a few days ago we could keep her as up to date as possible on our spider stuff. I don’t think it’s any fun for her to see this stuff on the news and have no idea if we’re safe or not.”

“Considering she just sent me like a thousand texts asking if we’re okay, yeah, I agree,” I say, and Gwen just lets a small disbelieving laugh.

We find our way to Arby’s to see that the parking lot is deserted and the building itself is locked up tight. Apparently, the place had been evacuated earlier, and no one bothered coming back.

“Oh, wonderful,” Gwen mutters, sighing and slumping onto the curb outside the restaurant. “You think they’d be mad if we just broke in and helped ourselves, left a couple twenties on the counter?”

“I think so, yeah,” I say, patting her on the head as I sit next to her. “Sorry, kid.”

She huffs, leaning against me. “My favorite comfort food, and I can’t even have it when I need it the most,” she grouses. I wrap an arm around her, and she nestles into my side with a quiet little noise of general discontent.

“Love you,” I say softly, and she begrudges me a little smile.

“I love you, too,” she says, her stomach growling. “I’d just also really love some food.”

“How about Japanese?” a familiar voice says, and we look up to see Harry standing there, holding out two plastic bags. “Junpei’s takeout. Cleaned out the buffet.”

“Harry?” Gwen gasps, standing and hurrying over to hug him. “Harry!”

“Ah, easy,” he says as she squeezes him. “Not as sturdy anymore.”

She eeps and jumps back, looking contritely up at him. “Sorry.”

“So…it worked?” I ask him, and he nods with a half-grimace.

“Back to normal,” he says, offering a little shrug. “I mean…as normal as I ever was.”

“Decidedly abnormal,” I say with a small smile, and he grins.

“Right?” He plops down on the curb as well, and Gwen and I sit on either side of him, digging into our food.

“So…” Harry begins, but I hold my fork up, forestalling any apologies he can offer. I just don’t wanna hear it.

“Not your fault,” I tell him.

“It’s a little my fault,” he says. “If I hadn’t gotten trashed last night.”

“That’s like…nine percent,” I say. “This whole thing was like nine percent your fault, and we could argue for a high eight-and-a-half.”

He chuckles, punching me gently in the shoulder, but from his smile, I can tell he was expecting me to blow up at him. But really, the symbiote was to blame for most of what happened. “Thanks for snapping me out of it, though, bro,” he says. “Dad told me what happened, and I remember some of it. You saved me by dropping the bass.”

“I always told you to listen to more AWOLNATION,” I tell him, and he snickers.

“Think I’ve had enough of them,” he says. “I’ll stick to Sum 41. Good road trip music.”

“Road trip?” Gwen asks, glancing up from her food. We both look at him, but he’s not looking at either of us. There’s a faraway expression on his face as he stares in the direction he walked from. “Harry?”

“I gotta bail for a little bit,” he says with a shake of his head. “Tony’s right, I need to…re-center. Trying to readjust to not having spider-powers while you two are swinging around saving the city…. I know what would happen. I’d get jealous as fuck and get all salty and broody. I don’t want that. I never wanna feel that way about you guys. Plus…after all that shit that just went down, I just need to get away.”

“But where are you gonna go?” Gwen asks, her eyes shining. “Harry, how long will you be gone?”

“Well, it’s February, so I can’t miss too much school,” Harry says with a grin, shrugging. “Two weeks, maybe three. I’m going to Cali.”

“What’s in California?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“No, more like what’s _on the way_ to California,” he says. “And the answer is the entire country. I just need some time with the road. Tony’s gonna rig up a Chameleon bot to drive me, since I can’t yet, and then…road trip.”

“When are you leaving?” I ask.

“Soon as I get back,” he says. “I just…wanted to come say goodbye for now.”

“Oh, Harry,” Gwen says, leaning in and hugging him. “We’ll miss you.”

“Hey, I won’t even be gone that long,” he says, patting her head, reaching his other arm out to yank me in for a hug. “C’mon, bring it in. Real deal.”

I hug him in a kind of one-armed bro-hug, grinning up at him. “Powers or not, you’re still part of the team,” I tell him. “You can be, like…our ops guy, back at HQ, telling us where the next big crime is.”

“Deal,” he says, cuffing me on the shoulder and standing. “Alright, I better go before I literally start to cry, so…I’ll see you guys around. Oh, before I forget.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses me a key. “There. That’s the key to my place. You guys can let yourselves in and soak off in the hot tub after patrol.”

“Yay,” Gwen sings, smiling up at him. “I wanna say take all the time you need, but also, don’t stay gone too long. We love you, Harry.”

“I know,” he says with a smile at us. “Real-talk, I love you guys, too. I…that’s why I’m not too salty about losing my powers like this. I mean…it sucks, but I remember a lot of what happened, and…Pete, I’m glad you didn’t get hurt. Tell the Terrific Trio thanks.”

“You bet,” I say, swallowing around a lump in my throat.

Harry raises his hand in one last farewell and heads off to where he must have had a car parked and waiting, Walton in the driver’s seat. He climbs in, and Walton takes off, leaving Gwen and I sitting in the Arby’s parking lot, empty foam containers in our laps. Gwen slings an arm over my shoulders, nestling against my shoulder.

“You okay?” she asks softly, and I shrug.

“At least he’ll be back,” I say.

She frowns, hugging into me with a sympathetic sound. “Aw, Pete,” she says. “Hey, you know, if you’re looking for someone to bro with, what about Johnny Storm? He…basically knows your secret identity, right?”

“I mean, he definitely figured out Harry’s, but I don’t think he knows who Peter Parker even is,” I say. “I…we’ll think about it. They’re really high-profile people, so I don’t know if I want them knowing who we are.”

“Well, it’s just something to think about,” Gwen says, still leaning against me. I stare blankly at the side of the brick building next to the Arby’s parking lot for a few minutes until Gwen’s fingers gently pull me to face her, and she’s kissing me softly.

“Why don’t we take today off?” she asks softly. “We’ll go home, chill in the basement, and you can go all inventor and make something cool.”

“You sure?” I asks, poking at the cast on her arm. “I bet you could knock someone unconscious with that thing, just whap ‘em on the head.”

She giggles, smiling and reaching up to gently bop me on the head with it, and I make a big show of falling onto the sidewalk. “Ah, halp. I am vanquish.”

“I win,” she sings, leaning over me and smiling down at me. She’s quiet for a moment, my angel staring down at me from on high. She looks beautiful against the clear blue sky, the sun glinting in her hair and making it glow platinum. I reach up and press the back of my hand against her cheek, and she smiles, placing her hand over mine.

“I wanna make you promise never to leave me, but – “

“Promise,” she says, not even letting me finish.

“But that’s selfish of me,” I finish flatly, smiling up at her. She just shakes her head.

“You’ve earned a bit of selfishness,” she says. “I promise. It’s made. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” I say wryly.

What would Peter Parker be without Gwen Stacy?

 

“ _…_ _still reeling from the sudden but catastrophic destruction in the wake of what can only be presumed to be an attack on Oscorp Industries by yet another mutated spider person, quite possibly the second in a twelve-hour period. New York was only spared a wider circle of devastation by the timely intervention of Spider-Man, the Black Widow, and several unknown figures in powered battle armor. While Black Widow was grievously injured towards the beginning of the clash, the true hero of the day was Spider-Man himself, who at several times went one-on-one with the spider creature and eventually came out on top with some help from the Terrific Trio. The Trio had little to say but this short comment from Sue Storm, alias Miss Fantastic: ‘It was an honor to work beside Spider-Man. He’s a bright young man, and I look forward to seeing him grow into a fine superhero.’ High praise indeed from arguably the first modern superheroine.”_

“That _is_ high praise. Sue Storm’s a tough woman to impress.”

Norman reeled away from the TV, turning and yanking his desk drawer out. Pulling out the .45 he kept there just in case, he raised it and swiveled, searching for the source of the voice.

“If you’re gonna take a shot, better make sure it hits,” his visitor said, and Norman’s gaze finally settled on a woman leaning against the doorway to his office. She had a severe blonde bun and cool blue eyes, and despite her relaxed posture, she had a no-nonsense air about her that told Norman he would be foolish to try to press an attack. “I’d still prefer to keep it civil.”

“You’re Sharon Carter,” Norman said, lowering the gun. “Deputy Director of SHIELD.”

“Good, I don’t have to introduce myself,” Sharon Carter said, closing the distance between them. “I knew you’d be better educated than most of the folks I get to talk to. Always the same questions from them. ‘Who are you?’ ‘What’s SHIELD?’ ‘Why haven’t I heard of them before?’ But I bet you’re still asking yourself the big one.”

“What are you doing here?” Norman asked, and Sharon gave him a wry smile, cool amusement in her eyes.

“Yep,” she said, opening Norman’s cigar box and drawing one out. “There it is. You’ve given us a lot to be worried about, Norman. You can bury what the public sees, disassociate yourself from anything to do with spiders or any member of the arachnid family as far as the press and your average web-surfing old fella knows, but SHIELD sees a lot more than Old Man Watkins on 22 Blueberry Lane.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Norman said in a level voice.

“Project Solstice,” Sharon said, clipping the end of the cigar with wicked-looking combat knife and lighting it with a gold-plated lighter. Flipping the lighter shut with a solid click, she blew a puff of smoke out the open window before turning to Norman. “Juiced up spiders are tested to see if their webs can absorb radiation, maybe clean up the environment. Noble cause. But as I understand it, you had yourself a little oops a few months back, and they all went down the waterspout.”

“We have reason to believe corporate espionage was involved,” Norman said. “Someone released them on purpose. Either way, they’ve been recovered or disposed of, and I’ve taken measures to neutralize any…unfortunate mutations the spiders have caused.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw that big green bucket of bolts,” Sharon said. “Tony Stark’s work, I bet. Very impressive. Definitely better than anything _we_ could have built. Must be a lot of fun, running around in a metal monster, beating up spiders.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Norman said, determined not to let her have anything.

“Oh, I think you do,” Sharon shot back with a little smirk, puffing on the cigar and filling the air with the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. “Hire someone out, they ask questions. They don’t ask _you_ , but they ask. Someone else intercepts them, starts asking questions as well, that’s a loose end. And you seem like the kind of guy that hates loose ends as much as I do. Best way to handle it? Hop in the armor yourself, go step on some spiders.”

“That was months ago,” Norman said, shaking his head. “What are you doing here _now_?”

“Well, when we first heard about the situation, we figured you had it under control,” Sharon said, her cold gaze glinting in the afternoon sun as she stared out the window. “Director Fury didn’t feel we needed to interfere…just yet. And for a little while, all looked quiet on the western front. A few spider-powered kids started running around, getting attention, but even then…well, Fury always did have a thing for teamwork, and those three work very well together. So you and your pals were observation only, hands off.”

“So what changed?” Norman asked, his voice still flat and calm. Sharon turned to him, her eyes narrowing.

“Whatever Spider-Man was tangling with this morning was _not_ the usual mutant spider-freaks your little accident turned out,” she said in an icy tone. “That thing had something…else. We wanna know what that ‘else’ was.”

“So SHIELD was content to leave me to scramble to save those afflicted by those spiders, which only got away due to circumstances well outside of my control, but once it’s revealed that I had something you didn’t know about, suddenly you come knocking,” Norman said. “That sounds like your typical MO.”

“SHIELD figured you had enough to deal with cleaning up after those spiders without having to worry about a full government enquiry at the same time,” Sharon said with another puff on her cigar, flicking some ash out the window. “I’ll be the first to admit we’re not the friendliest of organizations, but we’re the government. We’re not here to be your friend, we’re here to make sure America and her interests keep chugging along. But we have eyes and ears everywhere, Norman, and we know that your _son_ had contact with something that is probably not of this world.”

Norman snapped his gaze back to Sharon, feeling his lip curl.

“You leave my son out of this,” he said in a growl.

“I’m trying to,” Sharon said, her tone that same icy one as before. “I don’t want to bother your son, I don’t want to bother Gwendolyne Stacy, and I certainly don’t want to bother Peter Parker, especially after the week he’s had. But the cat’s out of the bag, Norman. Like it or not, SHIELD is now aware that you have something we find _very_ interesting. I hate to be the big bad government bitch, coming in to poke around at your stuff, but that’s just what we do. SHIELD, and by extension the United States government, does _not_ like knowing _of_ things without also knowing _about_ them. Better us than…other interested parties.”

Norman perked up at that, looking at Sharon to see an intense, unreadable look on her face.

“What other parties?” he asked. Sharon glanced around pointedly before meeting his gaze but saying nothing.

“Jarvis,” Norman said. “Sweep the room. Thoroughly.”

There was a quick series of beeping noises before Jarvis’s voice came.

“ _No listening devices outside of those you’ve placed yourself, Mr. Osborn_.”

Seeming satisfied, Sharon stepped closer.

“Recently, some of your men showed a revolutionary suit of powered armor to the senate’s Committee on Armed Services. Do you remember how that went?”

“How could I forget?” Norman asked. “It was originally intended to be a formality. Now we’re trying to outsource our contracts overseas to cover the financial defecit.”

“The committee instead opted to invest in some much more inexpensively-made armor from Hammer Industries, armor that is, to be frank, shit,” Sharon said, now pacing left to right in front of Norman. “It’s only the latest in a series of extremely ill-advised decisions made by the new committee head.”

“Senator Stern,” Norman said. “He seems like….”

“A weasel,” she supplied for him. “That’s why I’m here now, alone, instead of tomorrow morning with a full squadron of SHIELD agents. Norman, I need you to level with me because I’m leveling with you. SHIELD needs your help. There are those within the agency that may owe their allegiance to someone else, someone that we thought long-dead.”

“Who?” Norman asked. Sharon blew another cloud of smoke out the window and turned back to him.

“How much do you know about the Red Skull?”

 

“Peter, can you take the garbage out, please? I don’t want you to forget before they pick it up tomorrow.”

Aunt May, I just saved the city from what could probably have been an unending rampage on the part of my best friend who had his mind addled by a psychotic space-symbiote and almost pancaked my girlfriend into the side of a taxi.

Nothing would bring me more joy than to take the garbage out.

Ignoring Aunt May’s protests not to carry so many bags at once, I tote two plastic garbage bags in each hand out to the large dumpster thing in front of our house. How do we go through so much garbage? Even accounting for the fact that Gwen basically lives with us, that’s only three people, two and a half at best. I dump them into the garbage bucket, turning to head back into the house, but just as I’m about to take a step, I feel a tingle in the back of my head. It’s like my spider-sense, and it probably _is_ my spider-sense, but much fainter, like the time Gwen hid in my closet and pounced me with a tickle attack.

Just as I’m about to leap in the general direction I can feel the neck-tingles coming from, a cool female voice makes me jump.

“Aw, and here I was, about to box your ears,” it says, and I spin around to see…wow.

“Wow.”

“Aw, you’re just too cute,” a woman says, stepping out from the shadow of a tree, and what a woman she is. She’s probably nineteen or twenty, wearing tight-fitting black pants and an equally snug leather jacket. She looks like the kind of girl that plays the sexy biker chick in those HBO shows where softcore nudity is allowed. She has wavy black hair, what Gwen would call sun-kissed skin, and dark blue eyes that look very familiar…. Where have I…?

“Black Cat,” I realize aloud, and she smiles wide enough to dimple her cheeks.

“You remember me,” she says, skipping happily forward, which as the added effect of causing certain parts of her to jiggle _don’t look at them, Peter Parker_!

“What…how…?” I scramble to form words, but between the shock that the Black Cat is here, not in costume, and has apparently figured out my secret identity, _and_ the sheer dripping sex appeal she’s oozing right now, it’s a struggle.

“Oh, c’mon, stealth suit?” she says, rolling her eyes. “I followed you, Edward Cullen style. I didn’t wanna bother you, though. You just…fascinate me a little. I know that sounds stalkerish, but…well, sue me.”

“You _followed_ me?” I ask. How did I not even notice her!? Stupid Peter, stupid!

“Only for like a day,” she insists. “Two, tops. I just…I dunno, you seemed so cute and…earnest. Your big muscly friend was drooling over me, I could tell, but you were so…noble. Most of the crime-fighter guys I meet have this big personal grudge or toss their morals aside when I bat my eyelashes or just get off on how self-righteous they are, but you’re…different. Your like…good for the sake of good. And I dunno, it stuck with me.”

“Glad I could inspire such a change of heart, but this is my secret identity for a reason!” I hiss. “My aunt is in there, and she has no idea that I’m….”

“Relax, Spider, I’m not gonna out you, I promise,” she says, patting my chest. “In fact, I just wanted to let you know, the Children’s Miracle Network just received a cash donation of fifty-thousand dollars in the name of Spider-Man.”

“I….” What? Fifty-thousand? “Are you serious?”

“Mhm,” she says, sounding pleased with herself. “Don’t get me wrong, I kept just as much for myself, but like I said, you’re…I dunno.”

“I’m in a relationship,” I say, and she smirks.

“Oh, that never stopped me before,” she says, winking at me and leaning in. I lean back at first, but she just places a finger on my chin, turning my head so she can lean in and kiss my cheek. “But I think I’ll respect that. For now. You’re just so pure, it’s too cute. I don’t wanna ruin it.”

She steps back, turning and strolling toward a very expensive-looking motorcycle. Stopping next to it, she turns back to me, examining my expression.

“Like it?” she asks, smiling and slinging her leg over it before reaching back for a helmet. “Just got herthis morning. She’s an expensive girl, though. I’m about to go get her next payment from Wilson Fisk. Join me?”

She pats the passenger seat, and I laugh when I see that she has another helmet strapped down, complete with a spider-web pattern reminiscent of my mask.

“Not tonight,” I say. “It’s been a long day, and I think I just wanna go relax.”

“I saw the news,” she says, her smile fading to a concerned look. “I hope everyone’s okay.”

“We’ll get better,” I say, and she smiles again, pushing the helmet on.

“Good,” she says. “I’ll see you around…Peter.”

“Hey,” I say as she raises her foot to kick the engine on. “What’s _your_ name?”

Her eyes crinkle, and I can tell she’s smiling inside her helmet, pleased I bothered to ask the question.

“I’m Felicia,” she says. “You ever need any help, there’s a little bar in Manhattan, the Black Cat.”

“Narcissistic much?” I ask, and she winks at me.

“Actually, _I’m_ named after the _bar_ ,” she says amusedly. “Sort of a family legacy. Anyway, you look me up, okay, Spider?”

“Will do,” I say. She kicks the motorcycle on, and for a moment, I’m worried about the sound, but the engine purrs like a…well….

You know.

She gives me one last little salute before revving her engine and taking off along my street .I turn and head back for the house, ready to collapse on my bed and wondering if I can just skip school tomorrow.

It’s been a crazy weekend.


End file.
